


Second Time Around

by Brenda



Series: Second Time Around [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Political Animals
Genre: Angst and Humor, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Series, Slow Build, Steve Learns To Deal With His PTSD, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, TJ Deserves Happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 03:54:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 62,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2567288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is a warrior without a war, a soldier without a mission, and a man without a plan. Bucky doesn't need his help, the other Avengers are busy with their own lives, and not even a move back to Brooklyn has given Steve a purpose or any idea on what to do with his life.</p><p>But, when he meets TJ Hammond at a charity event, he thinks maybe he's at least found a new friend. That he's found someone who understands a little of what it's like to rebuild one's life from the ground up. Someone who could help him rediscover just <i>who</i> exactly Steve Rogers is. </p><p>And maybe - just maybe - they discover a deeper connection with each other along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please check out the absolutely amazing artwork by Az26 here: <http://az26.livejournal.com/1333.html>

For something that Tony Stark was calling a fundraiser, it sure as hell _looked_ like a party. 

Steve glanced around the crowded ballroom at the glittering crowd, all dressed up in floor-length gowns and expensive tuxes and suits, and tugged at the bottom of the jacket of his dress greens. He was doing this for Pepper, he reminded himself. And, as clichéd as it sounded, for the kids. 

He'd done a little bit of reading on what her foundation was all about, and had to admit, he was impressed by how much good it been doing in bringing the humanities and the arts back into New York City classrooms. It sounded like something he'd like to be a part of, if he could, and tonight, however much it pained him to admit it, was a good step in the right direction. 

Even if it did mean he'd have to mingle and make small talk.

He allowed himself to get wanded by security and handed over his invitation. He didn't see a single soul he recognized, but that wasn't exactly surprising. He had, after all, just moved back to New York. But he still wished Natasha or Clint or Thor was here tonight, if only so he could have someone to talk to who would treat him as Steve Rogers, not Captain America.

He headed to the bar first to grab a drink, just to have something in his hands - a neat trick he'd learned during his USO touring and glad-handing days. He tended to fidget too much otherwise. 

His phone buzzed in his jacket and he pulled it out, swiped the talk button. If he was lucky, it was Natasha or Clint with a mission that would get him out of his obligation. "This is Rogers." 

"You look like a man getting sent to the gallows. Cheer up a little or you'll scare off the donors."

Tony. Of course it was Tony. Steve tried – and failed – to rein in his disappointment. "Are you spying on me right now?"

"Merely keeping an eye on America's favorite super soldier," Tony replied, in a cheerful tone. "Now get out there and mingle, laugh at a few bad jokes, smile that little bashful smile that everyone loves, and the evening will fly by." 

Steve sighed, smiled apologetically at the bartender, and summoned up his last few dregs of patience. "If you're so concerned about me, why aren't you introducing me around yourself?"

"Divide and conquer, Rogers, divide and conquer."

"I knew I should have said no when you asked."

"It's for charity. Besides, what else were you going to do tonight? Mope around your apartment because Barnes didn't want to come back with you to play house and help you unpack?"

Steve glanced around to make sure no one was paying him any attention and lowered his voice. "That's not how it is, you know that. I'm just worried about him out there all alone." Even though Bucky had made it abundantly clear that he didn't need or require Steve's help at the moment. 

"Yes, we all know." Steve could practically hear the eye roll in Tony's voice. "But if he's anything like you, he's not coming back until he's good and ready, so you may as well live your life in the meantime."

"Is that really how you want to play this?" Steve asked.

"Just stand tall and think of the children, Cap," Tony said and hung up before Steve could say anything else. Typical Stark, always getting in the last word.

Steve put his phone away, and smoothed his jacket. "Scotch and soda, please," he told the bartender, summoning his first fake Captain-America-on-tour smile of the night. He was here, he may as well gear up and do his duty, so to speak. If making a few rounds and shaking a few hands would raise awareness and money, well, as much as Steve hated to admit it, Tony had a point. It was the least he could do. 

"I do hope the front view is as good as the view I've got right now, because your ass should be immortalized in marble."

Steve turned, a ready comeback on his lips (if he had a quarter – dollar these days – for every time someone pinched his ass, he could probably buy Manhattan), and pulled up short, all of the breath in his body leaving him in one shocked exhale.

"Holy hell, Bucky, what're you –?"

"Oh fuck me, you're Steve Rogers, I am _so_ sorry –"

They both stopped. Stared at the other. Steve forced air back into his lungs and looked a little closer at the man standing in front of him. No, not Bucky. Bucky, as far as he knew, was still in Southeast Asia chasing down the final remnants of Hydra.

At first glance, the resemblance was striking, but the other man's eyes were more green than blue and, while he managed to fill out his very nicely cut charcoal-grey suit more than fine, he wasn't as muscled as Bucky was now, and he was just a hair shorter. The fact that he didn't have a metal left arm was just the icing on the cake.

"I'm really sorry," Not-Bucky said again, raking his hand through his hair – a lighter shade of brown than Bucky's and curling around the ends in a way that Bucky's definitely never did. His voice was also slightly rougher, reminded Steve of late nights at smoky dance halls and the bitter sting of whiskey on his tongue. "I, uh, I don't normally hit on national icons this early in the night."

Steve quirked an eyebrow, amusement winning the war over confusion as to who this guy was. "So, hitting on me would be fine later on, I guess?"

A relieved grin spread across the man's open, expressive face. "Sure, why not. At least, that's the excuse I'd use if I was drinking tonight. Which I'm not, by the way, in case my mother or grandmother asks you about it."

"Why would they ask me anything?"

Those more green-than-blue eyes widened slightly. "You don't have any idea who I am, do you?"

Steve shook his head. "No, I'm sorry, I don't think we've ever met." He definitely would have remembered it, if they had. It wasn't every day he met someone who looked like they could be his best friend's brother. "I just thought... For a minute, I thought you were someone I... well, someone I used to..."

"Bucky Barnes," the other man guessed, with a short, knowing nod. "Yeah, I think I've heard all the jokes myself. I suppose we really _do_ look alike if it threw you for a loop. Must be like looking at a ghost, I guess."

A ghost. Right, Steve reminded himself. Bucky Barnes, as far as the world knew, had died a long time ago. "At first glance, yeah. I'm sorry, I know it must sound –" 

"Don't sweat it. If anyone's got a right to compare me to his dead best friend, I guess it'd be you, right?" Not-Bucky stuck out his hand. "TJ Hammond. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm a big fan."

"Steve Rogers." The clasp was firm, but brief. Steve got the feeling TJ had shaken a lot of hands in his life.

"Wow, you were serious. You _really_ have no idea who I am."

"Again, should I?"

TJ shook his head like he wasn't sure whether to be insulted or pleased. "Un-fucking-real."

"I feel like maybe I should be the one apologizing."

"No, it's cool, just a little weird. A good weird. Anyway, I think I still owe you one. I mean, an apology," TJ said, with a small wince. "For the comment about your ass. I'm really sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it. I do happen to have a very nice ass," Steve smiled, mostly to try to get TJ to relax. 

"Did you just..? You _seriously_ just said that. Oh my God, this is awesome." TJ laughed, loud and delighted and so genuine that Steve found himself charmed by it. And, if he was totally honest with himself, by the way the corners of TJ's eyes crinkled when he smiled. 

Steve had always been a sucker for anyone who laughed at his jokes.

"Well, the way I see it, I went through a lot of trouble for this ass, so I think it's okay if I'm proud of it."

"You have every reason to be very proud," TJ chuckled, gesturing at him. "It's, as I mentioned, a very fine ass. Exceptional, really."

"Thank you for saying so," Steve replied, as seriously as he could manage. 

"Oh man. This has got to be the craziest conversation I've had in awhile, and that's saying something," TJ remarked. "You're definitely different than I thought you'd be. I mean, than I'd imagined you would be."

"I get that a lot."

"I bet." TJ stepped up to the bar, cast him a sidelong glance. "Anyway, hey, let me buy you a drink to apologize or something. My mom'll kill me if I don't at least try to make it up to you."

"Thanks, but I actually just ordered." Steve picked up his forgotten scotch and soda, and took a sip. Not bad for an open bar. He'd had much worse. But then, Tony had a reputation to uphold. "That's the second time you've mentioned your mom, by the way. Is she someone I should know, too?"

This time, the smile was a sardonic twist of full lips. "Only the Vice President."

"Your mom's Elaine Barrish?" At TJ's nod, Steve tilted his head and studied the man in front of him. He'd only met her once when he'd first woken up – President Ellis had invited him to the White House to personally give him his Congressional Medal of Honor for his work in taking down Hydra (the first time) – but Steve could see the resemblance between Ms. Barrish and TJ. Especially around the eyes and mouth. No wonder TJ had been flummoxed that he hadn't been recognized. "Right, I remember hearing that she had sons. You're a twin, right?"

"Oldest by three minutes. My younger brother's been trying to keep up with me ever since." It sounded like a well-worn joke.

"Which I guess means your dad is –"

"Former President Donald _Bud_ Hammond," TJ confirmed. "He was before your time, I guess. I mean, not before your time in that sense, but before you were de-thawed or de-iced or whatever it was and I'm just gonna slink away before I say anything else I'll regret."

"No, it's fine. I promise." This was the most relaxed – hell, the most _normal_ – conversation Steve'd had in months that hadn't involved Sam or Natasha or Clint. And now that he'd had ample time to really study TJ, he could easily spot the differences between him and Bucky. Oh, they could definitely pass for related, but the shock of it was finally wearing off. 

Still, Steve couldn't wait for Bucky to meet this guy, just to see his reaction. Once Bucky made his way back to New York, Steve would make sure of it. And he _was_ coming home. Steve had no issue allowing Bucky time to get himself all sorted out, but he was eventually going to settle where Steve could keep an eye on him if Steve had to drag him across the Hudson personally.

Even if Bucky never regained all of his memories or his easy charm, it would be more than enough to have him around. They'd make new memories. Whatever it took. But, for now, he could allow them both some breathing room. Some space to come to terms with everything that had happened to them, some time for Bucky to learn how to be Bucky again without anyone hovering around him or smothering him with expectations. It wasn't ideal, but Steve could be patient. Not his strongest attribute, but he'd learn.

"Yeah?" TJ's face brightened, made that handsome face look mischievously boyish. "That's two I owe you."

"You don't owe me anything." Then Steve glanced around the room and winced at the crowd. Had it gotten bigger? "Well, maybe, since you're here and you probably know who everyone is, you can tell me who to keep away from."

"Oooh, that's a tough one. Well, Gary Lincoln, for sure," TJ said, and nodded discreetly at a heavyset man wearing a dark green suit standing next to a very tall, very slender woman in a matching frothy green dress. "He's got deep pockets, but he'll monopolize you for the rest of the night telling you the same three stories and they're all pretty terrible and boring as hell. And his wife is _very_ handsy."

"Noted," Steve said, making a mental note to avoid the couple. "Anyone else?"

"The blonde bombshell in the sheer black Prada at your two o'clock," TJ said, with another subtle nod. "Terese Laurent."

"What about her?" She seemed harmless enough to Steve's eyes.

"It's not her you need to worry about," TJ said. "She's as smart as she is stunning, which is saying something. But she's unfortunately married to a very insecure man, if you feel me. And with you being you and looking like how you look, well, let's just say I'd hate for you to wrinkle your uniform knocking him down to size."

"Stay clear of the jealous husband, got it," Steve said, and made another mental note. "Anyone else?"

"No one I can see at the moment, but I'll let you know." TJ leaned against the bar, relaxed and completely in his element in a way that Steve would never be able to emulate, no matter how hard he tried. "So what brings you out tonight, if you don't mind me asking? I thought you didn't really do the fundraiser/party circuit."

"I don't. Well, I don't anymore," he said, with a wry smile. "I've kissed enough babies and signed enough autographs and shook enough clammy hands for several lifetimes by now."

"Which still begs the question of why you're here."

"What can I say, I'm a sucker for the arts," Steve shrugged. "And Pepper and Tony are friends."

"Yeah, Pepper's a peach. And Tony and my dad go way back, that's why the Hammonds always get a standing invite to these things," TJ said, with an expansive wave of his hand. "Stark Industries used to be the main military contractor for the Department of Defense back in the '90s when my dad was in office. Plus, I think Tony and my dad used to chase after the same women."

"That doesn't surprise me in the slightest," Steve replied, with a smile.

TJ laughed again, showing off deep grooves around his mouth. "Yeah, I guess it wouldn't."

An older, white-haired, regal-looking woman in a gorgeous blue sequined dress strode up to the bar and stopped. She gave TJ a withering look. "So much for fetching your poor grandmother a drink."

TJ gave the woman a sheepish shrug and spread out his hands. "Sorry, Nana, I...uh, I got distracted."

She gave Steve a very thorough once over and made a small hmphing sound. "I can see that," she said. Steve wondered if his ears were as red as they felt. The look reminded him a little of the ones the nuns at St. Ignatius used to give him and Bucky. Like she knew every single thing he was thinking and didn't approve of any of it. 

"So, Thomas," she continued, turning that look to TJ, "are you going to remember your manners and introduce us?"

TJ, apparently well-used to the look, just smiled, wide and fond and indulgent. "Of course, my apologies at the oversight. Margaret Barrish, I'd like you to meet the one and only Steve Rogers."

"It's a pleasure, ma'am," Steve said, as he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. The gesture had the desired effect, as she relaxed and gave him a smile of her own.

"We've actually met before," she told him, with a twinkle in her blue eyes that her grandson had definitely gotten from her. "At your USO stop in Chicago in March of '43. I was eleven years old. I met you after the show and you smiled at me and gave me a kiss on the cheek, and afterwards, I told everyone I knew that I was going to grow up to marry you."

"Well, I'm sorry I'm a little late," Steve said diplomatically. He'd heard a fair number of those stories in the last couple of years, and he still wasn't entirely sure how to handle them. It wasn't like there was anyone he could go to for advice, either. De-thawed national icons he could commiserate with over the changing times weren't exactly crawling out of the woodwork. Bucky excluded, of course, and he didn't precisely count.

"It's alright, I didn't mind waiting." From the speculative look she gave him and TJ's amused laugh, Steve got the feeling that she was the true hellraiser of the family. He'd always liked the troublemakers.

"Ms. Barrish, I don't suppose you'd like to dance." Tony had more or less ordered him to mingle, and what better person to start with than the mother of the Vice President. Plus, maybe it would get him out of his own head for a bit.

"Captain, I thought you'd never ask."

He caught TJ's grin when he offered his arm to Ms. Barrish, and he wasn't sure why, but he replied with a wink of his own. He felt comfortable around TJ and his grandmother. Maybe it was because they were just as famous (maybe even more so) than he was himself, maybe it was because they didn't seem to expect anything of him, he wasn't sure. But it was a nice feeling.

Thankfully, the band struck up a simple waltz and Steve was able to ease them into the dance without feeling terribly awkward about it. Margaret waited until they were halfway around the floor before speaking. "Has my grandson been behaving himself around you? He's got a weak spot for hot blonds with nice abs."

"He's been fine." Steve tactfully didn't mention TJ's first comment to him. "Besides, I'm thinking I should be more worried about you."

Her laugh was as honest and bright as TJ's. "You're damn right you should be. If I was 40 years younger, believe me, I'd be fighting with TJ over the same boys, yourself included."

"And probably winning more often than not."

"Yeah, you're a charmer, alright," she said, squeezing his arm. "And all the books about you said you were tongue-tied around women, too."

"Oh, well, I used to be." Still was sometimes, but he was getting better. He definitely had more practice now. "Bucky was always the one with the silver tongue, not me."

"TJ's the same way. Guess it's something else he and your friend have in common." Her eyes were sharp, as piercing as a blade.

"If that's your way of asking if I noticed the resemblance between TJ and Bucky, it's a little hard to miss."

"Is that why you started talking to him? Because he reminded you of your friend?"

"To be honest, no. After about a minute, I stopped thinking about it at all." Steve took a chance, brought Margaret into a small dip. "Now, if you don't mind, I've got a beautiful woman in my arms, and I'd much rather talk about you than your grandson or my friend."

"Definitely a charmer," she smiled, but obligingly changed the subject.

He learned a little more about her – former Vegas showgirl who'd started her own very successful business, married well (at least, the second time around), raised a successful daughter, hated politics and the spotlight it put on the family, but was resigned to the life by now – and the rest of the dance passed fairly quickly. They were both laughing when he led her back to the bar, where TJ was waiting.

He started a slow clap, that lazy, charming smile firmly in place. "You two looked amazing out there. Could definitely could give Fred and Ginger a run for their money."

"Well, you can take the dancer out of Vegas, but the muscle memory'll always be there." Margaret smiled. "Now be a dear and order your grandmother a drink before she dies of thirst."

TJ simply pressed a full martini glass into her hand with a slight flourish. "Already done."

"I knew there was a reason you were my favorite," she stated, taking a sip. Then she smiled at a point past TJ's shoulder. 

Steve turned to look as Tony strode up to their little group. His carelessly worn black suit probably cost more than the net worth of some small countries, and his green-tinted glasses perfectly matched his tie and kerchief. 

"TJ, nice to see you again," Tony said, holding out a hand for TJ to shake. Then he bowed slightly, kissed Margaret's cheek, and that famous Stark grin got even brighter. "Margaret, my love, you're looking even more radiant than usual tonight."

"Anthony, you've lost some weight. Your face is less bloated."

"Brutally honest as always and I love you for it," Tony grinned again, then turned to Steve. "Are they corrupting you yet?"

"It's a little late for anyone to corrupt me, Tony." About eight decades, but who was counting?

"Ah, I'm sensing a story or two," Margaret said, looking at him with interest. "Any you care to share?"

"None that'll compare with any of Tony's."

"As long as you remember that, Rogers. You may be taller and have the genetically perfect bod, but I've got dibs on Margaret's heart."

"Don't worry, Tony, you're always at the top of my list," Margaret replied.

TJ just shook his head. "You two, I swear, just get a room already."

"We are adorable, aren't we," Tony said, genial and pleased. "Just think how close I came to being your step-granddad."

"I shudder to think."

Steve glanced from Margaret to Tony, and raised an eyebrow. He _thought_ they were joking, but where Tony was concerned, it was always best to be sure. "You two didn't really...?" 

Margaret laughed, delighted and bawdy. "Heavens no. He _wishes_."

"I do," Tony nodded. "I've seen your showgirl pictures and your legs were things of glory. Esther Williams and Betty Grable would have been envious. I don't think Pepper would blame me if I threw her over for you, so just say the word, and I'm yours."

TJ nudged Steve's arm, canted his head towards the dance floor. "Hey, uh, you wanna maybe dance, leave these two lovebirds to their flirting?"

"Sure, why not."

"Seriously?" TJ asked, like he wasn't sure he'd heard Steve properly. " _You_ would be seen on the floor with another guy?"

Steve wanted to ask why TJ had mentioned it if he didn't think Steve would accept, but decided to leave it be for right now. He probably had his reasons. And if it was a dare, well, it wouldn't be the first time someone had tried that tactic with him. "I can't promise not to try to lead or that I won't step on your toes, but I think we'll be alright as long as we take it slow."

TJ just blinked at him with a disbelieving look on his face. Then Margaret smacked his chest with the back of her hand and narrowed her eyes at him. It seemed to shake TJ out of his stupor, and he held out his hand. "Alright, then, I guess, uh, we're doing this."

"Hey, if you're too ashamed of your dancing skills to be seen in public, that's fine..."

TJ's eyes narrowed in challenge. "Oh, it's on now, Captain. Twelve years of ballroom dance coming your way."

He led Steve to the dance floor with a glint in his eye that Steve admired, even though TJ did put a very respectable amount of space between them. Which was a little odd, considering that he'd been trying to hit on Steve earlier, but Steve just rested his hand against the small of TJ's back, clasped his other hand to TJ's and shuffled around the room to the strains of whatever (thankfully) slow song the quartet was playing. It didn't feel that much different than when Bucky had taught him how to dance in his mother's living room, even though Steve was a lot taller now than he was back then and he wasn't staring at his feet like he was terrified of stepping wrong.

Although, he had to be honest, TJ was a better dancer than Bucky.

"So, tell me about yourself, TJ. What's it short for, for starters."

TJ's gaze snapped back his way. "Oh, um, Thomas. Thomas James."

"I thought for a second you were going to say Jefferson."

"Ah no, my family's a total walking cliché, but they're not _that_ clichéd, thankfully," TJ added, and ducked his head with a rueful laugh. "Although, it would be funny if I was named after a president. It'd be something else I'd have in common with your friend, Bucky. I mean, other than the face."

"It did throw me a bit at first," Steve admitted, because they may as well get that particular elephant out of the way. "Must've been weird for you. Growing up looking like him, I mean."

"Being the president's son was a lot weirder," TJ said, his touch gentle as he guided them around the floor. "Resembling Captain America's best friend and a genuine World War II hero was actually kinda cool. I, uh, I dressed up as him once for Halloween. An ex-boyfriend went as you. This is a really bizarre thing to be telling you, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You'd be surprised how many people tell me they dress up as me for Halloween," Steve smiled. TJ had moved a little closer now, which was encouraging. Steve no longer felt like he needed to shout to be heard over the music. "I don't suppose there are any pictures of you in costume anywhere."

TJ shrugged. "Probably." His grip tightened in Steve's. "The internet never forgets."

"So I've heard," Steve replied. "So, what else?"

"What else what?"

"What else should I know about you?" 

"You want the bad stories, the worse stories, or just the truly salacious stories?" Even though TJ was still smiling, Steve got the impression he wasn't really joking. 

"I don't mean what the public knows," he said, shifting in until they were practically brushing chests. This close, he could see a slight smattering of freckles across the bridge of TJ's nose. Something else that differentiated him from Bucky. "I mean, what else would you like me to know about you, Thomas James Hammond, the person?"

TJ was silent through their next turn, even though he still moved as gracefully as before. "That's, uh, you know, that's a really interesting question," he finally said. "You might be the first person who's ever asked me that. Most people already know – or think they do – everything about me."

"I can sympathize." If Steve had a dollar for everyone who'd walked up to him with a preconceived notion about who he was based on something they'd read or an old interview or one of his old films, he could not only buy Manhattan, but probably all the other boroughs, too, and maybe even Yonkers while he was at it. Not that he wanted Yonkers – who would – but still.

It couldn't have been easy for TJ, growing up in the public eye like he had, where every youthful mistake or indiscretion would have been scrutinized to death. Steve was just as happy he'd grown up in a time without the Worldwide Web. Especially considering all the times he'd been detained by the cops for causing a disturbance.

TJ nodded and ducked his head again. "Yeah, I guess you could."

"Anyway, like I said, I'm not interested in the public figure. Just tell me something real," Steve encouraged, with another smile that TJ returned.

"Okay, well. I left D.C. about two years ago and I live in New York now. I own a small jazz/speakeasy club in Brooklyn. Right in the heart of DUMBO, in fact."

"Brooklyn, huh?"

TJ nodded and that smile turned speculative. "You should stop by sometime. I think you'd like it."

"Maybe I will," Steve said. He liked jazz just fine, and it might be nice to have a friend in the area. Everyone he knew – which really meant Sam and Natasha – had been telling him to get out more, rediscover his neighborhood and the city, especially since he'd just moved back into the area. "What's the name of the place?"

"TJ's Jazz Bar. It's on Jay Street."

"TJ's, huh? That's very original of you." Steve teased. The song changed, but TJ didn't seem inclined to leave the dance floor, and neither did Steve. He kinda liked not leading. Not to mention, it was a nice change of pace to be able to mostly look his partner in the eyes while they were moving.

"Well, Neverland was taken, so what can you do," TJ said, with another one of those wide, bright, charming smiles.

"You think of yourself as a Lost Boy?"

"Nah, not so much now. But Dougie – my twin brother, Douglas – and I, that's what we used to call ourselves when we were kids. We even named the dog Nana, much to my grandmother's chagrin. I don't think she liked being compared to a collie mix."

Steve could well imagine. "I take it you and your brother are close."

"Yeah, it was me and him against the world when we were growing up," TJ said. "I've always been able to count on him."

"Sounds nice." Reminded Steve of how he and Buck used to be. A united front against all comers.

"What's nicer is him realizing that he can count on me now, too. That hasn't always been the case."

"Every family has their ups and downs," Steve replied. He wanted to smooth out the wrinkles between TJ's brows. They made him look far too serious. Old beyond his years.

"Some families have bigger ups and downs," TJ said. "But that's definitely another story for another day. You, uh, I guess we should probably head back to the bar. The press is already gonna have a field day with us dancing as it is. You'll probably have to answer a ton of questions in the next few days about your sexuality or whether you were just another notch on my bedpost."

"Don't worry, I've got plenty of practice in telling people to politely mind their own business," Steve said. But, in the interest of actually doing what he was supposedly here to do, which was mingling and getting more donations for Pepper's charity, he let TJ lead him off the dance floor. Margaret and Tony were nowhere in sight.

"Guess she really did ditch me," TJ said, rocking back on his heels.

"I'm just grateful she trusted me with her grandson," Steve replied. "She seems like the protective type."

"You have no idea," TJ chuckled. "A couple of years ago I would have called it cockblocking, but now I'm sort of thankful she's got my back, y'know? The gay card doesn't exactly come with great self-preservation. At least, not where I'm concerned."

"I'm pretty sure the straight card or the bisexual card doesn't always come with great self-preservation, either."

"Yeah, you're probably right," TJ said, with another rueful smile. "You sound like a man with some experience in that area."

"I have terrible self-preservation skills. That's why I joined the Army," Steve deadpanned. 

TJ laughed again. "You're not nearly as uptight as I'd thought you'd be. Most people in your position – military guys, I mean – would have distanced themselves from me the second I hit on them, let alone danced with me."

"Is that why you asked? To see how I'd react?" Steve added, when TJ looked at him in question. "I mean, it's okay, your reasons are your own, but you're far from the first gay man I've met in my life."

Wasn't part of the joy of the modern world supposed to be greater acceptance in how one chose to live?

"Oh, well, um." TJ shrugged. The line of his shoulders was so still it was like looking at a statue. "You really don't care? I thought guys back in your day were, uh, you know. Not as welcoming."

Another misconception Steve was happy to refute. "Do you know anything at all about where I grew up?"

"Sure, you grew up in Brooklyn," TJ shrugged. "Everyone knows that."

"Not just Brooklyn," Steve corrected gently. "Brooklyn Heights. In the '20s and '30s, Brooklyn Heights was what you might call a queer haven. Buck and I would go to the gay clubs sometimes when we were really broke 'cause the drinks were cheaper and we could practice my terrible dancing skills without anyone batting an eyelash. Two of our neighbors in our building were pretty famous local drag queens. Hell, I lost my virginity at the St. George Hotel, which, uh, was a pretty notorious gay hangout, among other things."

"No shit." TJ grinned, quick and amused. He leaned in, dropped his voice. "Should I ask if it was to a girl or a guy?"

"You can ask," Steve replied, with another smile. There was only one other person alive who knew that story, and Steve wasn't even sure if Bucky actually remembered it any longer or if that was something else Zola had taken from him.

TJ held up his hands in laughing surrender. "Yeah, alright, I get it, there's a lot more to you than the history books."

"There's a lot more to everyone than what's on the surface," Steve said. 

"Not me," TJ replied, with a look Steve couldn't place. "I came out when I was still a teenager. When my dad was still in office. It...it's sort of defined me, I guess. The President's Gay Son."

What a terrible burden, Steve thought, once again thankful he'd grown up in a time and part of the world where he was afforded a lot more privacy. "Who you sleep with doesn't define you any more than what you do for a living," he pointed out. "There's more to everyone than who they like to screw."

TJ's eyes flashed with gratitude and that something else Steve still couldn't quite name. "No way you're real." 

"I'm as real as you," he replied, with a smile. "And, on that note, I should probably go earn my keep before Tony sends Pepper after me."

"Yeah, me too. Well, it's more wrangling Nana before she causes another scandal, but I kinda like playing chaperone. It's a nice change of pace." There was another story there, Steve could tell, but he didn't press it.

"I'd be more worried about her and Tony running off together."

"They just might one of these days," TJ replied, then stuck out a hand. "It was very nice to meet you, Steve Rogers. And if you ever want a night off from super-heroing or whatever it is you're doing now, come by the bar and I'll buy you a drink."

"I might take you up on that sometime," Steve replied, with another handshake. "Take care of yourself, TJ Hammond."

"Yeah. You too."

***


	2. Chapter 2

It was well after midnight by the time Steve made it home to his apartment. His first clue that he wasn't alone was seeing a strange pair of sneakers by the front door, but caution turned into a grin when he saw Sam Wilson camped out on his sofa, dressed in sweats and watching the MLB Network. 

Sam hit the pause button on the remote and waved his hand in Steve's direction. "Nice threads, man. Who was the lucky lady?"

"I wasn't on a date," Steve replied, stepping around the stacks of boxes he'd yet to unpack. 

"Well, whatever it was you were up to, you clearly had a good time if that little grin you're wearing is anything to go on."

Steve tossed his jacket over the back of one of the chairs and kicked off his shoes. "I'm sorry, you should have texted you were here, I would have left sooner." In fact, he'd forgotten altogether that Sam was coming up for a few days to help him get established into the new place.

Sam waved him off. "Don't sweat it, brother, I made myself right at home, ate all your leftovers and reprogrammed your DVR with all my favorite shows and everything. So, what's the occasion for the suit if it wasn't a date?"

"Uh, some charity event for Pepper's foundation."

One of Sam's eyebrows lifted. "Tony managed to get you to one of his parties?"

"Yes, he did, but it wasn't like that," Steve said, finally loosening his tie. "And, in all honesty, it wasn't as terrible as I thought it would be. I even met a few nice people."

"Yeah? Anyone I've heard of?"

Steve smiled. "Maybe one or two." 

"Well, look at you, making new friends your first week back in New York," Sam teased. 

"I wouldn't go that far," Steve replied. "Not unless the old Korean War vet that lives across the landing from me counts."

"I don't know. _Does_ he count?"

Steve shrugged. "Yeah, I guess he does." He knew Sam was worried about him being lonely in New York and wallowing in nostalgia or self-pity, but he was fine. "I'll run down the list of everyone I met and talked to in the morning. I sort of promised Stark I'd meet him and Pepper for breakfast, or whatever passes for it when he gets up, and he mentioned wanting to go over some surveillance footage out of Tblisi before he tells Clint and Natasha about it. You should get some rest."

"Yeah, okay, sounds good," Sam said, waving him off. "We'll get all caught up mañana."

Steve paused at the hallway and turned. "I am glad you're here, Sam." 

Sam returned the smile. "Yeah, I've missed you too, Steve."

***

 

_Of all the ways he'd thought he might die growing up a sickly runt, crashing a plane into the Arctic had to take the cake for most unlikely. But at least he was going on his own terms. Doing some good, not just wasting away in some hospital room in Brooklyn, betrayed by his own body._

_His arms shook with the effort of keeping the plane's yoke on its downward trajectory, his eyes burned with the tears he refused to shed. They wouldn't change anything. And Peggy, she'd be fine, she was strong, she'd find someone who was worthy of her. Guys like him, they didn't get the girl or the happy ending. But, at least this way, he was earning the trust Doc had placed in him._

_The ice rushed in closer and closer still. He closed his eyes, braced for impact and –_

 

Steve jerked awake and sucked in a lungful of air. He willed his heart to slow, and unfisted the sheets, wincing at how clammy his skin felt. Just a dream, he reminded himself. 

He took a quick glance at the bedside clock – 5:07am. At least he'd gotten a couple of hours. He swung his feet to the floor, knew there'd be no more sleep for him tonight. He may as well go for his run, get a start on the day, such as it was.

He quietly got dressed and let himself out of the apartment, keeping an eye on the closed door to the spare bedroom. Bad enough he couldn't get any rest. He didn't want to wake Sam up, too.

But when he got back, Sam was awake and at the small breakfast table, drinking a cup of coffee and looking at his iPad. He saluted Steve with his mug, nodded at Steve's attire.

"Still having trouble sleeping?"

"I'm fine," Steve said, and got a bottle of water from the fridge. Coffee could wait until after his shower.

"Wasn't my question."

Steve just shrugged. "I don't know what you want me to say." He couldn't remember the last time he slept an entire night through or a night when he didn't have the dreams. It was normal now.

"Truth might be nice," Sam said. "You don't wanna talk to me, that's fine, but you need to talk to someone."

Steve finished his bottle in three long gulps, and tossed it in the trashcan. "Nothing to talk about," he said. "I'm hitting the shower. You still up for breakfast with Tony and Pepper later?"

Sam just gave him a long look, but then he nodded. "Sure," he said, and went back to his iPad. "It's your show, man."

"Thanks," Steve said, and headed towards the bathroom, grateful that Sam hadn't pushed the issue. Everything was alright. He just needed some time to get acclimated to his new life, as simple as that.

***


	3. Chapter 3

"So, did you at least get a number last night?" Tony asked, pouring himself another cup of coffee. Breakfast had, predictably, turned into brunch, but Steve didn't mind the late hour. It had given him a chance to tackle a couple of the boxes cluttering his bedroom. 

"A number from who?" Steve asked, even though he knew exactly who Tony was talking about.

"TJ Hammond. You two looked awfully cozy."

Sam's fork clattered to his plate. "Hold up. Are you telling me that _TJ Hammond_ hit on you?"

"Well, I wouldn't call it hitting on, no." Even though that had been exactly what it was.

"I saw flirting," Tony supplied, unhelpfully. "Pepper, you saw flirting, right?"

"I have no comment," she said, not looking up from her Starkpad.

"Which means yes, by the way, she's just being polite."

"There wasn't any – much – flirting," Steve amended, because it wasn't really like he could lie about it. There were too many witnesses. "He did compliment me on my ass, but it was before we were properly introduced."

"It is an outstanding ass. If I swung that way, which I don't, and no, college doesn't count, everyone experiments, I would definitely count your ass as tappable."

"Thanks, Tony. I'm sure you think that's a compliment."

"Can we go back to the part where TJ Hammond hit on you and you somehow failed to mention that last night?" Sam asked.

"It didn't seem important, and he didn't mean anything by it anyway," Steve shrugged. "He was nice. So was his grandmother. She's still quite the dancer."

Sam's fork went down for the count again. "Margaret Barrish was there? And you danced with her?"

"And didn't step on her toes, either," Tony supplied. "He even took TJ for a spin around the floor."

"Mostly swaying, really, although he is pretty graceful on his feet," Steve said, but was cut off by Sam punching him on the arm.

"You _danced_ with TJ Hammond and didn't mention that either?"

"Uh, no."

"Why not?"

"I don't know, I just didn't. It's not that big a deal. Guys can dance with other guys now without it being a thing, right?"

"You're hopeless. He's hopeless," Sam added to Tony, who just gave a mournful nod and sipped his coffee.

"It was just a dance. I had fun. Like I said, TJ was nice," Steve said, a little lost. 

" _Nice_ , you say, like it's no big deal that you were dancing and flirting with not one, but two, Hammonds," Sam said, shaking his head. "Your _life_ , man."

"Well, I always thought TJ was nice," Pepper said, finally looking up from her tablet.

"Yes, but you've got a thing for bad boys," Tony said. "Especially for reformed bad boys."

"So, what was so bad about him, anyway?" Steve asked, looking around the table curiously. "He kept making little comments about all of these stories about his past when we were talking."

Tony let out a low whistle. "Well, not to gossip or anything, but TJ in his heyday gave me a run for my money in mine."

"Drugs, booze, sleeping around with a whole bunch of shady people, rehab, more drugs, you name it," Sam continued, with a small shrug. "I dunno if half the stories were true, but even if it _was_ only half, he was into some serious shit."

"He always seemed a little lost to me," Pepper added, reaching for the bowl of blueberries. "Sweet as anything when he wasn't high, which wasn't often in those days, but also sad. Like he was just living up to – or down to, really – his reputation. Like he was trying to keep up with his father in some ways."

Steve thought back to the charming, relaxed, and very sober man he'd met. "So what happened? Because he seemed fine last night." Like someone Steve wanted to get to know better, maybe.

"I guess he finally woke up one day and decided he wanted to get clean," Tony said. "I don't know all of the details, but right around the time his brother got married, TJ went cold turkey on everything, the drugs, the drinking, fucking anything and everyone that moved, and moved out of D.C."

"Which was the best thing in the world for him," Pepper added quietly.

"Getting away from his old friends and old habits helped," Tony continued, squeezing Pepper's hand. "Anyway, he moved here to New York, put together the capital to open a little jazz club in Brooklyn..."

"Yeah, he told me about it," Steve said. "It seems like a cool place."

"It's very nice," Pepper said. "Tony and I have dropped by a couple of times for drinks, and TJ has always been there either at the bar or working the floor, a very hands-on owner. From everything I've heard, it's managed to do pretty solid business since it opened."

"I always wondered where he got the money to open the place," Sam said, snagging the last piece of toast. "Heard his last place in D.C. had tapped him out."

"I may have helped him out a little with the capital," Tony replied, with an insouciant shrug. "What can I say, he's a family friend and I've got my own soft spot for reformed bad boys."

"Maybe he just needed a fresh start somewhere," Steve said. He could relate to the feeling.

"He does seem to have settled into life here quite nicely," Pepper said. "I think it helps that he has a certain anonymity in New York that he wouldn't get very many other places."

"This town's always been pretty good at not really caring who you were unless you played for the Yankees," Steve said. He was grateful that he didn't get harassed too much when he was out and about, running errands and such. Mostly just kids saying hi or teens wanting to bump fists and ask him if Iron Man or the Hulk were really that cool. 

"And even then, unless you're a living legend like Derek Jeter or Mariano Rivera, they only care about you if you're on a winning streak," Tony added.

"I imagine getting out from under the shadow of his family had to have helped as well," Sam said. "Growing up under that much of a spotlight can't have been easy for him."

"No, I guess not," Steve mused, once again thinking back to his conversation with TJ the night before, how talking about his family and his past had seemed to be a pretty uncomfortable topic. There were probably some embarrassing stories he'd rather forget. Steve could sympathize. God knew he didn't like bringing up his own past all that much, even if his reasons were very different. "Anyway, he was a swell guy, like I said. I had a nice time talking to him."

"Good," Pepper said. "And who knows, now that you two are neighbors of a sort, maybe you'll run into him sometime."

"Yeah, it'd be good for you to have a local friend or two closer to your own age, so to speak," Sam said, echoing Steve's thoughts from last night aloud.

Steve couldn't say he'd mind too much. "We'll see," he said. "Right now, I'm just focused on getting into a rhythm here in New York."

"Well, you've got plenty of time."

"Speaking of, I should get going," Pepper said, putting her napkin on the table and standing. "I have a tour with a couple of schools the foundation supports to see what they need for the upcoming fiscal year."

"Sounds exhausting," Tony said, and shuddered. "All of those kids..."

"And here I was thinking they'd be your people," Sam replied with a grin. "Seeing as how you're on the same emotional level and all."

"See, try to be nice to a friend and integrate a new microchip into his wing suit and this is how I get repaid."

"Hey, would you mind some company?" Steve asked Pepper. "I'd love to get a better feel for what the foundation is doing."

"That'd be great, thank you." Pepper smiled. "The kids will get a kick out of seeing Captain America in person."

"Sam, you wanna come with or hang out here with Tony?"

"I'm always up for telling kids how awesome I am," Sam replied, with his own grin. "It's too bad I can't bring the suit."

"I think you'll be sufficient without it," Pepper said, and bent to brush a light kiss across Tony's lips. "Try not to get into too much trouble while we're gone."

"No promises," Tony said. "Bruce gets back today and you know what that means."

"No burning down anything or blowing up anything."

Tony's pout wouldn't have looked out of place on a toddler. "Spoilsport." 

***

"Alright, class, does anyone have any questions for either Captain Rogers or Mr. Wilson?"

Immediately, every hand shot up. "My great-grandpa says he fought with you in World War II," one of the girls said, not bothering to wait for Ms. Lowry to call on her. "Is that true?"

"Um...I'm not sure. What's your great-grandpa's name?" Steve asked.

"Ralph Harrison. He said to tell you he was with the 107th."

"Then I definitely knew him." Steve couldn't actually recall the name, but if he'd served with Bucky, chances were Steve had met him at least once. 

"But he's really old and you're not."

"Summer..."

Steve smiled around the teacher's warning and Sam's snicker. (Pepper, bless her, didn't react at all. She'd probably heard worse from Tony.) "Well, I was frozen for a really long time –"

"Like Princess Anna?" another little girl piped up.

"Yes," Sam said, before Steve could say anything. "Only for a lot longer than she was."

"You know I have seen _Frozen_ , right?" Steve asked.

One of the boys put his hand up. "Mr. Wilson, do you still have your wings?" 

"Sure do, but they're with Mr. Stark right now getting worked on so they're in tip-top shape."

"Who's faster, you or Iron Man?" another boy asked.

"That's a good question," Sam replied. "Maybe we should have a race."

"Let's _not_ suggest that to Tony," Pepper quickly said.

"How about some more questions," Ms. Lowry said. "Did you know Captain Rogers used to study art and that Mr. Wilson played the trumpet in the high school band?"

Another hand shot up. "Can you stay and draw with us, Captain?"

"Absolutely."

"Mr. Wilson, did you bring your trumpet?"

"No, but if you got one, I could maybe teach you a song or two. Something cool, with some pop to it."

"Awesome."

 

"Thank you both for coming out today to talk to the kids," Pepper said, once they were on their way back to Stark's.

"Happy to do it," Steve replied. "They were a lot of fun." Fun and uncomplicated, and filled with a clear-eyed faith in both Captain America and the Avengers to do the right thing and always save the day. And Steve would have to be a very different sort of man not to want to live up to those lofty expectations.

"Well, they certainly took a shine to the both of you."

"They recognize superior awesomeness, that's all." Sam grinned, then turned it Pepper's way. "It's really cool what you're doing with the classrooms and giving them a creative outlet."

"That's the idea. We just need to find more tutors for the afterschool programs and get more supplies and instruments into more classrooms."

"Well, anything you need," Steve said, and meant it. He had a lot of free time. He may as well use it for something constructive. 

***


	4. Chapter 4

"Man, you've got a ton of books," Sam complained a couple of days later, arms akimbo as he studied the overflowing bookcase in front of him. 

"I like reading."

"You know, we've got these things called tablets now. And e-readers."

"Yeah, I know," Steve said, on his knees and unpacking another box. It wasn't the moving he minded so much as the unpacking and sorting. Not that he had all that much in the way of stuff – aside from the aforementioned books and his art supplies – but he hadn't really been around too much lately to do any unpacking. But now that Hydra was mostly eradicated and Bucky was as good as he could be, considering the circumstances, and neither Natasha nor Clint had needed his services in awhile, it was past time he settled into his new place.

"Maybe you should invest in one."

"I like having a physical book in my hands. I guess I'm old-fashioned like that."

"You know you can't live in the past forever," Sam said. 

Steve frowned. "Who said anything about living in the past?"

Sam pointed at the books. "These do. They're all history, politics, science. You catching up on things you've missed."

"Yeah, okay, and?"

"You know what I'm not seeing among them? Fiction," Sam continued, not waiting for a response. "Where are your mysteries or thrillers or scifi or fantasy or even romance if that's your thing. Where's the latest beach book everyone's talking about online? Or any of Oprah's book club books. There's nothing here just for fun, for you."

"I guess I just..." Steve shrugged. "Like I said, I've been busy."

"Chasing after Hydra, I know," Sam said. "But when's the last time you've done something that's really made you happy?"

Steve met Sam's compassionate gaze and resisted the urge to fidget. Sam was a great friend, but that was part of the problem. He saw way too much sometimes. "I haven't had much time the last few months."

"True, but now you've got time." Sam leaned against the back of the sofa, and swiped at the dust on his cheek. "You can do anything you want – go back to school, get your degree, travel the world and visit all the museums and study the classics. Hey, if you want to be an artist full-time, this is the perfect opportunity."

Once, that had been all he'd wanted. The chance to make his living drawing, to work for one of the papers or get embedded with a gallery somewhere. But now? Those dreams seemed as nebulous as mist. "I'm not sure I'm cut out for that life anymore."

"Remember what you told me once – you spent a lot more years being just plain old Steve Rogers than you have Captain America. I think it's long past time you get to know Steve again. Preferably before Barnes decides he's ready to come home."

"Maybe," Steve said, reluctant and slow, although Sam wasn't saying anything he hadn't been thinking the last couple of weeks. "And maybe I don't know who Steve Rogers is these days."

"You wouldn't be the first veteran to feel that way."

"No, I know."

"And you wouldn't be the first veteran who got all addicted to the rush of combat and is having trouble making a transition to civilian life."

"That's not what this is."

Sam didn't look convinced. "Mmhmm." 

"Look, I know I need to find a group, it's just...it's hard."

"Yeah, I get it. You don't want anyone thinking Captain America is weak," Sam said, with a quick nod. "I can do some asking around, if you want, maybe get you into a group where they value privacy and no one'll bat an eyelash at seeing you in a chair."

"Sure," Steve nodded, and hoped his smile wasn't as strained as it felt. "If you wanted."

"But if I find one for you, are you actually going to go to this one? Because I seem to remember you feeling slightly different in D.C."

"That's because D.C. was different."

"How's that?"

Steve knew he wasn't going to get out of this without at least giving Sam something to go on. But he unpacked his box of art supplies as he talked, just to have something to do with his hands. "D.C. wasn't home. It was just a place I lived so I was closer to SHIELD headquarters."

"Yeah, okay, that makes sense," Sam said quietly, "but what's that got to do with you actually going to meetings?"

"I...I don't know." Steve shrugged, looking up from his paint brushes. "I just think maybe it'd be easier here."

"Fair enough," Sam said. "I'll put some feelers out."

"Thanks. I appreciate it." He'd be alright. And, maybe, if he said it enough times, he might even grow to believe it, too. 

***


	5. Chapter 5

Sam stayed the week, and the days seemed to fly by much faster than Steve wanted. But all too soon, it was time for Sam to catch his train back to D.C. 

Sam hefted his duffle bag higher on his shoulder, and gave the living room an approving nod. "Not too shabby. Almost looks like someone lives here now."

"All thanks to you," Steve replied. They both knew that, left to his own devices, Steve would have shoved everything into the spare room and forgotten about it all.

"I wish I could stay longer, but the real world awaits."

"Hey, you've got a job and a life to get back to. And no matter what Natasha thinks, I don't need a babysitter."

"Well, don't be a stranger," Sam said, leaning into the one-armed hug. "It's a short train ride to D.C. I expect you to come visit me sometime. And to let me know the second you hear from Barnes."

"You'll be the first. And I will. Come visit, I mean," Steve added.

"And think about what we talked about," Sam said. "You've got time now. Use it to figure out what you wanna do with yourself. Figure out what makes you happy."

"I will," Steve promised. "And text when you get home, alright."

Sam gave him a quick fist bump. "You know it. Be safe out there, brother."

"You too."

The apartment was far too quiet after Sam left. Steve looked around at the few boxes he and Sam hadn't gotten around to, and thought about tackling them for about a second before discarding the idea. He glanced down at his sketch pad, but the idea of drawing also held little appeal at the moment. The walls started closing in on him, suffocating him under the weight of this new beginning. Which was the entire problem. 

He had no idea where to start.

SHIELD may have been rotten at its core, but it had done wonders for keeping Steve too busy to mourn the life he'd lost. And the last few months of chasing after Bucky and dismantling Hydra had taken him all around the world. Without a mission – a purpose – well, adrift was as good a word as any for how he felt.

He grabbed his keys and jacket and was out the door a minute later, no real destination in mind. He just needed some fresh air. Needed to be around people, around energy and light. He gave half a thought to calling Tony, but discarded it. He wasn't quite up to dealing with Tony's brand of distraction.

At least it was a nice night out. The wind was slightly cool, but spring was definitely here, as evidenced by the leaves unfurling from the trees and the flowers budding from the ground. Steve took a deep breath, felt the weight around his chest ease up a little with every step, and finally took the time to roam the sidewalks and see all the changes the last 70-odd years had wrought.

And Brooklyn was certainly different, no doubt about it. Sure, there were a few familiar buildings still left standing, but most of it was new. Which was honestly fine. Contrary to what everyone seemed to think, Steve wasn't still living in the past. He knew where he was, and he'd made his peace with the fact that he hadn't died when he'd crashed the Red Skull's plane into the Arctic. He'd made his peace with this new future, and with the fact that things were different now. He was a survivor, always had been.

He'd crossed Water and was strolling down Jay when he saw the small, discreet sign for TJ's Jazz Bar. He slowed, then stopped. He hadn't given TJ Hammond too much thought since the fundraiser, but, now that he was here, he heard the echo of Sam's voice in his head, telling him to get out, make some new friends. Remembered TJ's invitation to drop by any time. 

And hey, even if TJ wasn't around, he could at least hear some live music, be around people. 

He heard the sound of a piano first as soon as he descended the dimly lit steps into the club proper. Something slow and bluesy, reminded Steve a little of the jazz joints he and Bucky used to frequent back in the day. The kinds of places where the music was king and cigarette smoke hung in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife. Where the drinks were always cheap and the tunes were always red hot. 

He hadn't heard anything with that much pop and life to it in years. Decades, if he was honest. The music alone was worth stopping in for a drink or two, even if that was all he did. The crowd, and it was a pretty sizeable one for a weeknight, seemed just as enthralled by the song as Steve was.

The layout of the place was a little like one of the old clubs, too, with high-backed booths lining the walls and cozy settees and chairs surrounding polished wood tables. There was a long bar running the length of one wall, and at the other end was a small stage housing a drum kit and a gleaming baby grand piano. And sitting on a stool, nimble fingers flying and coaxing those amazing sounds and that infectious beat from the keys, was TJ Hammond himself. 

Steve stopped in his tracks, mesmerized by the sight. No one had said anything to him about TJ being musically inclined.

His keen eyes caught the curve of TJ's neck as he bent his head. There was a fine sheen of sweat along his forearms where his sleeves were pushed up, and Steve could barely make out the outline of a silver chain under the thin white of the shirt. Black jeans and black boots completed the outfit. All he was missing was the cigarette dangling from his mouth, Steve thought. Otherwise, TJ wouldn't have looked remotely out of place at one of the clubs that he used to go to in Greenwich Village back in 1940. He wished he'd brought his sketch pad with him so he could capture the scene on paper.

And the music...it was like listening to a painting by Picasso or Cézanne. A striking and seductive mix of genres that nevertheless felt wholly original and dangerous, like Steve could physically touch the notes and be transported somewhere else entirely. This was art, and TJ was a master.

Steve clapped enthusiastically along with everyone else when TJ finished the song with a flourish. Then TJ looked up and around, and a wide, mischievous, little boy smile lit his face.

"This next one is for a new friend of mine, who's here with us tonight," TJ said into the mic, and before Steve could even look around to see who TJ was talking about, he heard the beginning notes of "The Star Spangled Man with the Plan."

The laugher bubbled up, surprising him, and he met TJ's amused glance with a quick two-fingered salute. He was going to be living that damn song down on his deathbed. Hell, they'd probably play it at his funeral. Although, it didn't sound nearly as cheesy and ridiculous when TJ was crooning the words in a surprisingly rich tenor.

The crowd also seemed to enjoy the impromptu sing-along, if the applause when TJ finished was anything to go by. TJ stood, took a small half-bow, and bounded off the stage, all energy and smiles. When he got to Steve, he stopped and the grin widened.

"Well well well, if it isn't Steve Rogers in my humble club."

"How you doin', TJ," Steve replied, returning the smile. He thought maybe there were a few more freckles on TJ's cheeks, wondered if he'd been out in the sun lately. "I'm not sure if I should thank you for the song or not."

"Hey, it's a classic for a reason," TJ replied, not looking the least bit contrite. "I'm glad you stopped by. I was wondering when you would visit my little home away from home."

Steve looked around, then back at TJ. "I like it. It looks a little different than what I was expecting, but when I think Tony, I think flashy. Which this isn't. Sorry, that came out all wrong –"

TJ waved off the apology. "It's fine, I get what you mean. And you're right, you'd think any club Tony had a hand in would be all glitz and flash, and that would be true most of the time. Hell, you'd be right about the last place I was a part of back in D.C.," he said, tucking his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. "That one was all about the sex and drugs and rock-n-roll and the scene, which was probably the worst place in the world for me to be. But this place? It's different. It's chill, y'know, a place to kick back and unwind and relax, maybe hear some good tunes, have a drink or two with friends."

"If all the bands are as good as you, no wonder the place is so packed."

A charming blush settled on TJ's cheeks, made the freckles stand out in stark relief. "They let me play because I own the place. Most of the bands that play here put me to shame."

"I doubt it." He didn't think he'd ever heard anything that visceral and vital since he'd woken up. He was still buzzing, his fingers itching for a brush or a pencil to try to capture some of the heavy, throbbing energy he could still feel lingering in the air. 

TJ ran a hand through his hair, and cleared his throat. "So, uh, what brings you in tonight?"

Steve thought about how small his new apartment felt, how lonely. How nothing about it felt real, like home, even though he was only two blocks away from where he and Bucky had grown up. "Just felt like getting some air and I passed by the place and remembered your invitation."

"Well, you're always welcome. Come on." Steve followed TJ to the bar, and TJ rounded the partition, spread out his hands. The bartender at the other end just gave him an amused, indulgent look and went back to her customers.

"So, can I finally buy you a drink?" TJ asked.

"Sure." Steve sat on a stool, shrugged out of his jacket. "Surprise me."

TJ considered him for a moment, then nodded. "You look like a man who needs to try something new. Have you tried mojitos yet?"

Steve shook his head. "Can't say that I have."

"Well, then, you're in for a treat."

"Should I ask what's in it?"

TJ's wink was quick and surprisingly sweet. "A shit ton of rum and mint."

"Sounds good." Sounded lethal, but Steve could handle it now. "I like rum."

"I knew you were a man after my own heart," TJ replied, with another one of those sunny, open smiles that invited the world to laugh along with him. A few moments later, he set a tall Collins glass in front of Steve. "Go on."

Steve obligingly took a sip, then let out a surprised hum of approval. "Okay, wow, this is really good."

"It's the mint and the sugar all mixed in," TJ explained, all the while tapping a beat on the counter. Steve had never met anyone – except Tony – who was so constantly in motion. "It's the perfect drink for hot summer days on the beach."

"Or a nice spring night at a jazz club," Steve replied, hoping to get another one of those wide, full smiles.

He wasn't disappointed. "Well, I'm glad it meets with your approval," TJ said. "So, uh, hey, you want the nickel tour?"

"Sure." Steve wasn't sure how much there was to see – the place didn't look all that big – but he was happy to let TJ show him around.

"Awesome." TJ rubbed his hands together as he came around the bar again. "Well, I suppose I should start by telling you a little about the place. When I, uh, when I moved to New York, I wanted to do something a little different, go in a different direction. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah, actually, I do." Maybe Steve should be asking TJ for tips on what to do with his time.

"Yeah, I guess there's not a lot of call for world-saving super soldiers in everyday life," TJ commiserated. "What do you do when you're not saving the planet or taking down corrupt organizations almost single-handedly?"

"Hey, I had plenty of help in taking down Hydra," Steve protested. "As for what I'm doing...let's just say I'm trying to figure that out. Keep going, though, I wanna hear about you."

His life was far from exciting, and certainly nothing he wanted to talk about. He was a nice, quiet, boring soldier living the nice, quiet, boring civilian life. 

TJ gave him a speculative look, but thankfully didn't press the issue. "Anyway, I wanted something different. And my grandmother, you remember her –"

"I doubt anyone who's ever met your grandmother has forgotten her."

"Very true." TJ chuckled. "Well, the idea of a jazz club was hers. Speakeasy style places are making a comeback, sort of as an antidote to the big impersonal dance clubs. People want a place where bartenders know how to really mix drinks and where you can hear yourself think and engage in real conversation."

"Sounds nice. And definitely more my speed than the other places you mentioned."

"Yeah, you don't strike me as the meat market type. Although, if you were inclined that direction, you wouldn't have to worry about going home alone."

Like clockwork, Steve could feel his cheeks get a little pink under TJ's frank scrutiny. "Thanks, but I still prefer to get my dates the old-fashioned way."

"I swear, sometimes I really do think you just can't be real." TJ laughed, shook his head. "Anyway, I wanted to open a place in Brooklyn, because there aren't too many of these types of places here, and once I saw this space, I knew I'd found the perfect spot."

"I can see why." Steve took another sip of his drink, and was mildly surprised to see he'd almost finished it. Definitely a good thing he couldn't get drunk. 

"Anne, my sister-in-law, she had a big hand in designing the interior. I wanted something intimate, but with really good acoustics and a stage big enough for a piano. But nothing too dark or oppressive."

"I'd say you found the right balance. You've got a really nice place," Steve said, after another look. The bartender seemed friendly and fast, the servers wove in and around the tables with efficiency and a ready smile, and the patrons themselves all looked relaxed, like they were having a good time. "The only thing it's missing from the clubs back in my day is the haze of cigarette smoke."

TJ laughed and nodded. "Yeah, I know, I really need to add a proper smoking room. And I think I can do it, I mean, I've got this storage room I think I can convert into a true humidor/smoking lounge, maybe with a small bar, but I haven't really had the time to work through all the logistics yet or to visualize what I want the space to look like."

The words were out before Steve could even think about them. "I could help with that. If you wanted. I mean, I've got a good eye for spatial planning."

TJ blinked. "Doesn't Captain America have better things to do with his time?"

"Not unless you know something I don't." Sam had told him to find friends, and Natasha'd told him to find a new hobby or two, and it wasn't like he had anything else on his plate at the moment. 

"You're actually serious right now."

"Didn't anyone ever tell you Captain America is always serious?" 

TJ cupped the back of his neck and shook his head. "Jesus, you really are something else."

"You don't have to say yes. I promise, I won't get offended if you don't."

"No no, you offered, you can't take it back now," TJ said. "When Captain America offers his artistic skills on a potential project, that's not the sort of thing you turn down."

"It's not that big of a deal."

"Yeah, it kind of is, but I'll let you play all modest about it, since that seems to be your thing." 

"I'm just happy to help," Steve replied. "Under one condition."

TJ lifted an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

"Piano lessons," Steve said, surprising himself yet again. What in the world was coming over him?

"Seriously?" TJ asked, like he couldn't believe it, either.

"I've always wanted to learn how to play." And maybe learning would help to fill up some of his time. At the very least, it would get him out of the apartment and give him an excuse to spend more time getting to know TJ.

"God, I really am a sucker for baby blues and dimples," TJ lamented, but he was smiling as he said it. "Fine, you've got yourself a deal."

"Great," Steve smiled. "So, uh, you were gonna show me around?"

TJ just smiled and started introducing him to his staff.

***


	6. Chapter 6

Steve didn't get to see Bruce all that much, even though Bruce was back at Avengers Tower now, or at least, using it as a home base. So when Bruce texted him with an invite for lunch, he was glad to take the subway into Manhattan. They met at a small Vietnamese place on the outskirts of Chinatown – Bruce seemed to know the owner – and Steve sat back while Bruce ordered for both of them in rapid-fire Vietnamese. Might be a good language to learn. Maybe there was a class he could take. He could add it to his list now that he'd crossed Russian off of it.

"So, tell me what you've been up to since the last time I saw you," Bruce said, once their drinks had been dropped off. He was still as rumpled-looking as ever, but it looked to Steve like maybe Bruce had been getting more sleep lately. "Tony tells me you and Sam finally found your friend."

"Yeah, we did, a few weeks back." Steve's fingers tightened on the handle of his beer mug. "In South Sudan, of all places. Bucky, um, he'd been tracking down the people who'd been responsible for his, for his programming and trying to work on how to reverse parts of it." 

And just saying it out loud made him see red for everything that Hydra had stolen from Bucky. For what they'd turned one of the most fundamentally decent men Steve had ever known into.

"That's good, though, right? That he's actively trying to get back the parts of himself that were taken from him?"

"Oh yeah, that part's great, it's just..." Steve sighed, forced his shoulders to relax. Getting pissed wasn't gonna do him much good. "He knew me, knew where he came from, and it's amazing, just knowing that he's still alive, that I didn't lose him. But I just...I feel so fucking useless right now."

"You want to be out there with him helping him hunt down the bad guys and regaining his memories."

"Right on all counts. And I know, it's not about me, I need to respect his choices and his need to do this on his own and I do," Steve said, because it was true, he got it. He really did. "It's just...it goes against everything I stand for. Me and Buck...we always had each other's backs. I don't like knowing that he's out there right now without anyone watching his."

But Bucky had been very clear that this was something he needed to do by himself, and Steve wasn't going to be the one to take that choice away from him. Not when so many of his choices had been stripped from him over the years. This wasn't his fight.

"Maybe he needs you watching his back in other ways," Bruce replied. "I know a little bit about what he's probably feeling right now, and I know it's tough for you to understand, but sometimes, the best thing you can do for someone is to just leave them be and trust that they'll come home when they're ready."

"I know, and I'm trying," Steve said, as their food arrived. Steve couldn't even take a guess as to what half of it was, but it all looked amazing and smelled even better, so he couldn't complain. "The thing is, though, it's not just Buck. It's...I'm just feeling a little...well."

Bruce picked up a small bowl filled to the brim with steaming hot broth and vegetables and took a long sip. "You've been used to a certain structure in your life the last few years. Not answering to anyone about what you're doing...that'll take time to get used to."

The soup tasted every bit as delicious as it smelled. It reminded Steve a little of the cabbage soup Mrs. Piotrowski used to make for him growing up when he was laid down with a bad cough. Fragrant and rich and filled with amazing spices. "See, that's just the thing. I don't feel comfortable going back into the regular Army and I definitely don't want to work for the NSA or any other three-letter agency and thankfully, being an Avenger isn't a full-time job..."

"Well, what did you used to do? Back when you were young, before the serum?"

Steve toyed with his chopsticks, shrugged. "Mostly scrounged around looking for work. Sold my drawings sometimes to make ends meet. Tried not to get too sick. Went to a lot of rallies. Got beat up a lot for mouthing off at bullies," he added, with a smile. "I mean, yeah, I had my art classes a couple times a week and Buck and I went out to the movies or the clubs sometimes, but we didn't really have that much free time. It was different back then."

"I guess that makes sense. So, use this opportunity to figure it out. And don't be afraid to lean on your friends to help you discover what you like." 

"Be careful or I'll start hitting you up for yoga lessons."

Bruce chuckled. "I'm not sure I'm the best person to teach you, but you might wanna think about it. It couldn't hurt, if only for the meditation aspects."

Steve mentally added yoga to his list. Like Bruce said, it couldn't hurt. "I do have a little project going on, though. I mean, it's nothing much, but, uh, do you know who TJ Hammond is?"

Bruce nodded. "Sure. One of President Hammond's kids, the one that came out while he was still in the White House. You weren't around for it, but that was the big scandal of 1997."

"So I gathered." Steve still thought it was a damn shame that TJ's sexuality was such a big deal, but he continued. "Anyway, we kinda struck up a, well, I guess you could call it a friendship, and I think I might be helping him design a smoking room for his jazz club."

"That's great," Bruce smiled. "Maybe you could discover a new career in architecture or interior design. You've got the eye for it."

"Maybe, but I'm not so sure I'm cut out for a 9 to 5 job," Steve said. "Right now, it's just helping out a friend."

"That's still commendable. You could use more friends who aren't spies or assassins or genetically fucked up in some way."

"Right now, the only friend I've got that's not an Avenger or Bucky is the old vet who lives across from me." 

"Then I'd say it's well past time you made some new ones. It's good to have normal sometimes."

"To be honest, Bruce, I don't even remember what normal feels like." The thought should scare him more, but mostly, it just made him sad. 

Bruce gave him a sympathetic look. "Then maybe it's time you found out."

***


	7. Chapter 7

"Hey Steve, thanks for coming by." TJ, casually dressed in jeans and a teal t-shirt, held the door to the club open with his hip. His welcoming grin was as bright as the sun overhead and just as warm. 

Steve returned the smile and tucked his sketchbook under his arm to take TJ's hand in a friendly shake. "Hey, I'm glad you called. Texted."

"Sorry it took me a few days. I've been auditioning new bands for a summer concert series and it's been a madhouse," TJ apologized, leading him down the stairs and into the club. There was a college-aged girl behind the bar polishing glasses, but other than that the place was empty. "You look good. But then, I bet it's wired into your DNA now, right, part of the whole Captain America package? Kick lots of ass, but look amazing while doing it?"

"Uh, I guess?"

"Wow, you really _are_ terrible at this," TJ said, then leaned in slightly, and lowered his voice like he was imparting a secret. "That's supposed to be your cue to flirt back, by the way."

Steve blinked. "Um, sorry?"

"Don't worry, I don't actually mean anything by it," TJ assured him, with a self-deprecating smile. "Your virtue's still safe with me. But I can see we'll have to work on your banter." 

Belatedly, Steve caught up with the thread of the conversation. Flirting, right. He could do that. "Uh, you look good?" he offered. "That shirt really brings out your eyes?" He had no idea what he was supposed to say here.

TJ's lashes fluttered dramatically. "Oh, you mean this old thing?" He all but purred it.

Steve laughed. Finally, he was on familiar ground. "You wear it well."

"See, that's much better. There's hope for you yet."

"I feel reassured already."

"Don't worry, we'll whip those rusty skills into shape in no time. Consider it a bonus gift," TJ said, then turned. "Hey, Claire, we'll be in the back if anyone needs me." The girl behind the bar simply nodded.

"Alright, so, here's the space," TJ said, walking into a large room filled with old furniture. "Right now, it's sort of housing a bunch of junk, as you can see, but I think I could turn it into a smoking room without too much fuss."

"Yeah, it's definitely got potential." Down the hallway from the main room, but still close enough for easy access, and the high ceilings made the room seem even bigger. Steve could see it pretty clearly. "So, uh, I've been reading up on the whole smoking in clubs thing now, and aren't they illegal in New York? I mean, not that I care if you don't..." 

"They are, but this place is still grandfathered in under the law," TJ explained, tapping out a beat on his thigh. "I figure, with the right ventilation and some nice furniture and maybe a really nice humidor, it could work. Be a good place to enjoy some brandy and a smoke or a cigar, y'know."

"Well, you've definitely got the space for all of it," Steve agreed. He opened his sketchbook, quickly scanned the dimensions again, and started to draw a rough outline of what he imagined a smoking room might look like. He turned the pad when he was done so TJ could see it. "Something like this, maybe separate the humidor with glass doors or paneling to keep the openness of the room intact?"

"Wow." TJ let out a low whistle and leaned in, his forearm brushing against Steve's. "That seriously just took you all of five minutes."

"I know, it's really rough, but –"

"Steve, I couldn't draw that well if you gave me five _years_." When he looked up, his gaze was frankly admiring. "You're really gifted."

Steve could just about feel the blush steal over his cheeks. One day, he'd learn to take a compliment with grace. "Uh, thank you."

"Do you mind if I keep this?" TJ's fingers brushed over the edges of the paper like he was afraid he'd smudge it. "I might frame it when the room's done. A Steve Rogers original hanging up in my bar." He glanced up, eyes dancing with an infectious glee. "I'll be the envy of the neighborhood."

"Sure. I'll even sign it, if you want, so everyone knows it's authentic." For the first time in a very long time, the mention of Steve's fame didn't bother him. 

"So, uh, speaking of art, I meant to ask you earlier, but I've got this invite to this gallery opening. The artist is a regular here and a friend and I thought maybe, I mean, since I know you're into art and all, that you might want to – I mean, not as a _date_ or anything, but –"

"I'd love to go with you," Steve said, before TJ could give himself a coronary. "Maybe we can grab a bite to eat after." Which kinda _did_ sound like a date, but Steve wasn't going to mention it if TJ didn't. It had to be hard for someone of TJ's notoriety to make friends. The last thing Steve wanted was to make him feel uncomfortable for extending the invitation.

"I, uh, sure, that'd be great," TJ replied, with a relieved smile. "There's a great Thai place just up the block from the gallery. Really amazing spring rolls and pad thai."

"Sounds good. I haven't managed to scratch Thai off the list yet. Is it anything like Vietnamese?"

"I guess, somewhat," TJ said, then nibbled at the corner of his lips. "You said you have a list?"

Steve fished a small notebook out of his back pocket and held it up. "Things I missed over the last 70 years that I want to try. I know, it's old-fashioned to still write things down on paper, but I can't help it."

"No, I think it's kinda cool. I'm honored I get to be the one to cross Thai off of it."

"Tell me the truth," Steve said, dropping his voice even though they were all alone in the room. "Is it really as good as everyone claims?"

"Yes, it is," TJ replied, just as seriously. "Not as good as Indian, but right up there."

"Clint and Natasha took me to this amazing little place in Bangalore after a mission once. I still have vivid dreams about the lamb jalfrezi."

"Best Indian in the city is actually a restaurant in an office building in Midtown."

"We'll have to go sometime," Steve said, then winced at how needy – how pathetic – he must sound. "That is, I mean you don't have to...if that was...I don't want you to think that I'm trying to –"

"No, I get it, you want a partner in crime to help you out in discovering all the cool things about the 21st century," TJ said. Which wasn't exactly where Steve was going, but he didn't argue the matter. "We're closed on Tuesdays, so that's normally my night to go out, catch a show, have dinner with friends. Maybe we could try to work through a few things on your list, if you wanted."

Well, when he put it that way, maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. "I'd like that."

***


	8. Chapter 8

The sleek black limo pulled up to the curb and Steve hopped in, greeted by the floral scent of freshly brewed herbal tea and Pepper Potts' dazzlingly white smile. She was impeccably dressed as always, in a sleek pale pink business suit, with her hair pulled into a loose bun, and wearing a nice pearl set that Steve bet cost more than his mom had made in her entire life.

He brushed a light kiss across her cheek, accepted the cup of tea when she put it in his hands, and sat back against ridiculously soft leather. "You look lovely."

"Thank you," she demurred, and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. "And thank you for agreeing to ride in with me. I know it's short notice, but –"

"I don't mind. I was heading towards Flatiron anyway." He actually wasn't, but the last thing he wanted was to make Pepper feel uncomfortable or to think that she was putting him out. He'd find something to do once he got out. Maybe wander the neighborhood or something, see what was new and improved.

Her return look said more clearly than words that she knew he was humoring her, but she was tactful enough not to mention it. "How are you doing? Really."

He half thought about brushing off the concern, but he wasn't sure there were too many people who could say no to Pepper Potts. "I'm alright. Doing good. I mean, filling the days is...well, it's a challenge, but I'm sure I'll think of something soon."

"Actually, that's why I wanted to talk to you." She folded her hands in her lap, gave him an earnest look. "You were an amazing help at the fundraiser."

"Thanks, but I was happy to help out. It was the least I could do."

"And you were great with the kids that day we all visited."

"I like kids." He shrugged, and finally tried the tea. Its distinct perfumy tang lingered on his tongue. Maybe herbal tea was an acquired taste. (He really didn't want to acquire it.)

"It would be an honor to have you on in a more official capacity." She laid a hand on his forearm. "You don't have to answer right away. But give it some thought. You could do a lot of good."

"Fundraising?" he asked, trying to keep the disgust out of his voice. He couldn't do it. Not even for Pepper. Not ever again. He'd had a lifetime of being a trained monkey sent out to perform for the masses. 

"Whatever you wanted." She leaned back in her seat. "I know stumping for money isn't something you want to go back to, but maybe we can think of something else."

"I'll give it some thought." He hated turning his friends down, but he wasn't sure how much help he could be to her. He didn't know much of anything about how to run a business or non-profit, and he hated feeling like she was simply offering to give him something to do out of a sense of charity.

He could make his own way. He'd been doing it his whole life.

***

"Hey, Jules, let me give you a hand, alright."

Steve bounded up the last four steps to the landing, grabbed the bag of groceries before they could go crashing to the ground. Jules – short for Julian - Malone, 85 if he was a day, and still living in the same apartment he and his deceased wife had moved into after the Korean War, gave a rattling, paper-thin sigh. "I had it, Cap."

"I know you did," Steve replied, accustomed to the blustering. He secured the bag in one hand and slowed his pace to match the other man's. "Us old-timers have to stick together, though, right."

"Hmph." Jules flicked at Steve with his cane. "As long as you remember you _are_ older than me."

"How could I when you never let me forget it?" He grinned over Jules' amused snort. He waited while the other man unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped in, heading right towards the kitchen. "You want me to put these away for you?"

"If you must."

As grouchy and crotchety as ever, but Steve was used to it. He chuckled to himself as he unpacked the groceries. By now, he knew exactly how Jules wanted everything arranged. 

"If you're angling for an invite to dinner, it's Dee's night off, so you'll be stuck eating canned soup."

"Thanks, but I actually have plans tonight." Steve came into the living room, where Jules was already relaxing in his favorite chair, the Yankees game playing on mute on the TV.

Jules gave him a shrewd look. "You have a date?"

"Just an outing with a friend."

"Hmph," Jules said again. "I know you're technically an old man, Rogers, but you don't have to act like it."

"I'm not."

"You've been living across from me for almost two months and you haven't brought a single girl home."

1939 or 2015, nosey neighbors were still the exact same. It was like living across from Mrs. O'Malley all over again. "I solemnly promise to do better," Steve said, scooping the fleece blanket off the carpet and putting it on the arm of the sofa, within easy reach.

"See that you do," Jules said, with another shrewd, weathered look. "You still got your whole life ahead of you, you know."

"I do," Steve replied quietly. And he did. But knowing that wasn't his problem. It was figuring out what to do with it. "I'll see you on Sunday for our usual game of pinochle, alright?"

Jules just waved him off and turned his attention back to the Yankees.

***


	9. Chapter 9

Steve didn't have much of an idea about what was proper attire for an art opening nowadays (he'd thought about asking Pepper, but didn't want to bother her over something so trivial, and he could have asked Sam, but wasn't up to the questions that would surely follow), so he chose a nice pair of black slacks and a navy-blue button-down shirt, and hoped for the best. Clothing protocols were a lot more relaxed, so he thought he should be pretty safe. And, in all honesty, he'd rather be underdressed than overdressed.

He and TJ had agreed to meet outside the gallery, so Steve walked the ten or so blocks. It was another nice night, summer in the air, and it felt good to be out and about. To just _be_. He was in perfect health, he was his favorite city in the world, he was on his way to meet a new friend who seemed to like him just for him and not what he symbolized, and he was slowly, but surely, carving out a place for himself in this new world. Or, he was trying to, and trying was most of the battle. Focus on the positive, as his mom always used to say.

When he got to the gallery, TJ was waiting for him, wearing an open-collared white button-down and a dark brown pair of fitted slacks. But all Steve could focus on were the laugh lines around TJ's mouth when he smiled. "Hey, you made it. I was just about ready to send out the National Guard to find you."

"Yeah, sorry, I got rid of the government tracker when SHIELD went down."

"And no one's thought to put in a new one yet? Careless, I'll have to talk to my mom about that." TJ bumped his shoulder companionably as they walked to the door. "Ready to get in some culture?"

"I've been told I could use all the help I could get."

"I have a hard time believing that."

"Shows what you know."

The crowd was pretty sizeable, but not so big that Steve felt claustrophobic. Although he couldn't help but notice that he and TJ were drawing more than a few looks. He wondered if that was because of him or because of TJ or some combination of the two. One day, he promised himself, he'd learn to come to peace with people knowing who he was, with being a public figure. Maybe he could ask TJ for pointers on how he dealt with it.

"You want something to drink?" TJ asked, stopping in front of a small bar station.

"Sure, whatever you're having."

TJ drummed his fingers on the counter as the bartender poured two glasses of white wine – Steve wondered if TJ was always this restless or if it was just around him – and made a small approving sound once he'd had a sip. "A little sweet for a true chardonnay, but not bad. I mean, I wouldn't serve it at my place, but you really can't argue too much with free wine."

Steve couldn't tell if it was sweet or dry or anything else, so he just nodded. "Uh, so...you can...I mean, it's okay if you're..." He gestured at TJ's wine glass, unsure how to phrase the question. He didn't know much about addiction or really about anything TJ had gone through, and he didn't want to make it sound like he was prying into someone's private affairs, especially at this early stage of their friendship. And he definitely didn't want to sound like he was judging TJ – despite what he knew the uniform represented to a lot of people, Steve was uncomfortable with the thought of being the moral authority on anything. 

"Oh, hey, it's okay, God, you look like you're getting ready to stroke out." TJ put a reassuring hand on Steve's shoulder, and squeezed. "Relax, alright, it's okay. If I kill Captain America, they'll run me out of the country, and I'm not sure I'm ready to live the life of an exile."

Steve matched TJ's smile, but he knew it would be a few minutes before the blush died down. "I'm sorry, I know it's none of my business."

"It's fine, we're friends now, right?" At Steve's nod, TJ continued. He didn't move his hand, either, just kept kneading Steve's shoulder, loosening tense muscle. "I don't generally drink these days, no, but you don't have to worry that I'm gonna fall off the wagon or anything. Coke – cocaine – that was my main drug of choice when I was using. I never really had a problem with alcohol. But I do try to keep it to one drink when I have one."

"Okay." 

"Okay," TJ repeated, and with a last squeeze, dropped his hand. "You ready to look around?"

"Sure," Steve replied, grateful that TJ didn't seem to be annoyed with him or that he hadn't damaged their burgeoning friendship in any way.

They wandered around the room for a few minutes. TJ introduced him to the artist and a few of his other friends who'd shown up, and aside from a few comments about how much they admired Steve for his service, no one seemed to react too much to Steve's presence. It was a nice change of pace.

Shame the same couldn't be said for the paintings.

"So this is modern art." It wasn't that Steve didn't have an appreciation for the avant garde or the esoteric – he loved Picasso and Escher – but this was...really not his speed. Maybe he needed to brush up on what was considered art in the 21st century. 

Although, if this _was_ the best the modern world had to offer, maybe he'd just stick with the classics. These paintings looked like disco sounded.

Beside him, TJ let out a low chuckle. "Yeah, it's pretty terrible, not that I'd ever tell Silas that," he said. "Most of the stuff people are doing now is pretentious as hell, but there are some good artists out there doing interesting things." Then he gave Steve one of his speculative glances. "You know they've got some of your drawings hanging up at MOMA."

"I'd heard." Had heard and had tried not to be too weirded out by it. He didn't think he was terrible by any means, but there was no way he deserved to be in the same building as Matisse or Manet or Rembrandt or any of the artists he'd admired growing up. 

"I take it you haven't been by to see the exhibit."

"No, I have not. Going to the Smithsonian exhibit in. D.C. was more than enough." And even then, he'd only gone to see the video footage they'd had of Bucky and Peggy. To remember what they'd both looked like and sounded like when they'd all been young and a lot more carefree. To remind himself that _he'd_ once been young and a lot more carefree.

"That has to be so bizarre for you," TJ said quietly. "Waking up and finding that your entire life is part of history."

"A little. But I bet you know what that feels like."

"A little," TJ admitted, with a small smile that managed to look both resigned and charming at the same time. "You know, I bet you could petition the curator at MOMA to get your drawings back, if you wanted. I mean, technically, they're your property."

"You sound like Tony. He was ready to sue everyone from private collectors to the government to get all my stuff returned to me. But I dunno, I'm okay with it. I got a few things back – my mom's locket, my dad's rifle, Bucky's old journals and letters – but most of it was just...stuff. Everyone says I should be trying to build a new life for myself anyway."

TJ bumped his arm. Those more-green-than-blue eyes softened in sympathy. "That doesn't mean the public has any more of a right to your stuff than you do."

"Maybe not, but they've had it a lot longer than I have by this point." Still, it was nice, being around someone who knew the crushing the weight of expectation and infamy. Who knew what it was like to live with the fact that your personal life was somehow public domain.

TJ leaned in, flashed that mischievously sweet grin. "Hey, you ready to get out of here, and finally cross Thai off your list?"

Steve nodded, feeling unaccountably breathless. "Yes." 

***


	10. Chapter 10

There wasn't a prettier city than New York, especially at sunrise. Especially heading towards Manhattan over the Brooklyn Bridge, and seeing the way the light hit the river and reflected off the sides of the buildings. It was a painting come to glorious life, made Steve itch for oils and a canvas.

Maybe he _would_ find an art class somewhere. He'd missed being around other artists and bouncing ideas and inspiration off of each other – 

The ringing of his phone pulled him out of his thoughts. "Steve Rogers speaking."

"So, I hear you and TJ Hammond are getting kinda cozy lately. Still wanna try to tell me it's not flirting?"

"It's not flirting, Sam." He slowed to a walk, nodded at the two ladies passing him on the sidewalk. "Besides, weren't you one of the ones telling me I need to make new friends?" 

Sam's rich laugh rang in his ear. "Uh huh, whatever you want to call it, man."

"I like him." Steve wasn't sure what to say. Yes, they had a good time together, but it certainly hadn't gone beyond that. "We have a lot of fun. He's been helping me go through my list."

"Uh huh." 

Steve turned the corner, started to jog back towards the Bridge. "Did you just call to harass me or did you actually need something?"

"Why can't it be both?" Sam replied. "Any word from Barnes?"

"No, not yet. But I guess no news is good news, right?" 

"Be patient with him. He knows where to find you when he's ready."

"I am. Whatever he needs, I'm there. I just..." He trailed off, sighed. "He's the only family I've got left, y'know."

"No, he's _not_ the only family you have left."

Message received, loud and clear. "Thanks, Sam. I appreciate that."

"Just remember it, alright. You got a lot of people in your corner," Sam said. "Speaking of, the real reason I called is to tell you I did some asking around for you and I found you a VA group."

"Oh, um, thanks? I think?" 

"Don't start, you need to talk to someone. I emailed you the address and times this group meets, and I better hear you went. The person who runs it, Rita Flores, she's a friend of mine from basic. She'll treat you right, make sure everyone knows you're just there as another vet, and not to get all googly-eyed at the sight of you."

"Yeah, alright." It couldn't hurt to check it out.

"I don't wanna hear that you brushed this off, either. This is important. And it's for your own good."

"Yes, Ma. Should I promise to eat all of my vegetables and be home before dark, too?" Steve asked.

Sam snorted. "No, I already know you eat more spinach than Popeye and staying out after dark'll actually be good for you."

"I do have a life, you know," Steve said, although he wasn't sure why he bothered.

"Do go on."

"And I do go on actual dates with people."

"Mmhmm. You still in single digits on those?"

Everyone was a fucking comedian. "Shut up."

Sam just chuckled. "That's what I thought."

***


	11. Chapter 11

"You're really sure you want to do this?" TJ asked, ushering Steve inside his foyer. "There are a ton of better qualified people if you wanted to learn to play the piano."

"I've heard you, remember. I think I'll be alright." 

TJ's living room was a lot less of a showplace than Steve was expecting. Instead of impeccably placed furniture and a professionally decorated look, it held a large sectional sofa, a coffee table with a gaming system and a wall-mounted TV on the opposite side, and bookcases overflowing with knickknacks and books and a ton of candid photographs that Steve would be willing to bet a large sum had never been seen publicly. And, in the corner, clearly in a spot of honor, sat a beautifully polished baby grand.

TJ rubbed his hands over his jeans, gave a small smile. "I know, it's not much, but it's all mine."

"I like it. It suits you." 

"Thanks. Can I, uh, get you something to drink or...?"

"Sure, water would be great, if it's not too much trouble."

Steve followed TJ through the cozy dining room and its 4-seater table into a rather spacious kitchen. Every inch was absolutely spotless, from the gleaming stainless steel appliances to the granite countertops. He shuddered to think what TJ would think of his own decidedly not-as-immaculate kitchen. 

"So, either you're a closet neat freak or you don't spend any time here."

TJ tossed Steve a bottle of water and laughed, bright and amused. "Neither, actually. I've been teaching myself to cook the last year or so, you know, things other than burgers on the grill or pizza, and I like knowing where everything is rather than hunting around for it. But you should see it when I'm in the middle of a recipe. The counters look like a natural disaster hit 'em."

"You like to cook?"

"Yeah, it's soothing. Cheaper than therapy, although I still do that, too," TJ replied. "How about you? Any culinary skills to go with the artistic skills?"

Steve didn't even try to stop the laugh. "Uh, no. I mean, I can get by in the kitchen alright, but I'm no expert. Growing up...well, let's just say my mom couldn't stand too long most days and Bucky was a disaster just boiling water, so I learned to throw a few things together more as a survival skill."

"No specialties?"

"My mom's apple pie, but that's about it," Steve said. "What about you?"

"I've got a few things I can trot out when I'm trying to make an impression."

"Maybe I should be asking you for cooking lessons instead."

"Yeah, I'm a long ways off from lessons in that area. But maybe if you're lucky, I'll invite you over as a guinea pig one night. Guy who heals as quick as you is bound to have an iron constitution, right?"

"Considering some of the things I've been forced to eat, I'd say that's a safe bet." Steve took a sip of water to try to quench the sudden dryness in his throat. "And, hey, whenever you're ready, I'm happy to come over and taste your things. _Try_ your things. Your food. God, shut me up, please."

"Still so terrible, you're lucky you're cute when you blush," TJ laughed, "but I'll keep that in mind. Anyway, let's head back out into the living room, set up shop."

They settled on the stool side by side, even though it wasn't anywhere near big enough for the both of them. TJ's thigh was a warm, restless weight against his own, and this close, he could almost count the freckles dotting TJ's cheeks and nose. 

"Alright, we'll start simple for the first lesson. I'm just gonna have you do scales." TJ demonstrated quickly, running those long artists' fingers along the keys. "Once you get that down, then we'll move onto teaching you an actual song or two."

"Can you play a little something for me now, so I have something to look forward to?"

"Why do I feel like this is just an excuse for a free concert?"

"Sorry, was I being too subtle?"

TJ just glanced at him, but obligingly launched into the piano solo of "Low Down Dog", then segued into "Sugar Foot Stomp". And even though Steve was the only other person in the room, TJ played like he was up on stage for hundreds of people. Steve had never known anyone who could play so effortlessly. Like every note was liquid grace, like the music was pouring out of him by instinct. 

"You're really good." Steve didn't even try to keep the admiration hidden. "Why didn't you...do something with it? Or did you?" There was still so much about TJ he didn't know, despite all the time they'd been spending together lately.

TJ shook his head, a small, sardonic smile tilting the corners of his mouth. "You sound just like my dad. He's always harping at me to 'share my talent' with the world, go sit with an orchestra or become a world-renowned concert pianist."

"So why don't you?"

"I don't know." TJ's shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I mean, it's hard to explain. Especially to someone like you."

_Someone like him._ "Try me," Steve said quietly.

TJ played a few more erratic notes, then stilled. He didn't look Steve's way. "I was born into this extraordinary family, y'know? My dad was governor of North Carolina, then the freakin' President, my mom was Governor of Illinois, then Secretary of State, now she's the VP and she _will_ be President one day, y'know, it's just a matter of when. My grandmother's a successful businesswoman and philanthropist, my brother runs my mom's staff and he'll probably be her Chief of Staff when she gets elected prez, but me..."

He shook his head, finally met Steve's eyes. "All I ever wanted in life was to be normal. Happy. I wanted to do normal kid things, have a normal upbringing, a normal life, find someone normal to fall in love with...I never wanted to be extraordinary. I never wanted to be a poster child for gay rights or famous or world-renowned or any of that. I didn't come out when I was 15 to make a statement, I did it because I didn't want to live a lie. And I don't play the piano because I want the world to notice me. I play because it makes me happy. Does that make sense?"

"More than you'd think," Steve replied, his heart aching in sympathy. "That's why I draw. For me, not for anyone else. I never thought I'd be famous for it. And I certainly never expected to wake up and have my art in exhibitions and galleries, like it deserved to be there."

"Yeah, but you chose..." TJ waved a hand at Steve. "That. Y'know, being a genetically engineered super soldier."

"Yeah, to help win the War. And to get to the front line to watch Bucky's back. Not for fame or attention. Plus, there was supposed to be an entire division of us. It was never supposed to be just me in the program." Steve shrugged. "I never asked to be Captain America."

"That's the difference between us, though." That sardonic smile was back, and Steve wanted nothing more than to smooth it away. "You stepped up to the plate when your name was called. All I did was fuck up in every possible way I could for about 18 years."

"Sometimes it takes people a little longer to find their way." He took a chance, bumped against TJ's arm in a friendly gesture. 

"I guess," TJ replied, then he shook himself out of his mood. "But hey, enough of this serious talk, you've got scales to practice, so get to it, soldier."

"Yessir," Steve replied with a snappy salute.

***


	12. Chapter 12

Steve blocked the kick with ease, sprung to the balls of his feet and into a boxer's stance with a grin. "I know you can do better than that, old man."

Thor snorted and rotated his neck. "I thought your culture was supposed to have respect for one's elders."

"Oh we do. And I'm going to respectfully wipe the floor with your ass, so come on, let's do this," Steve said, and barely had time to duck out of the way of the fist that came flying towards his face. _Much_ better. God, it felt good to be sparring with a worthy opponent.

They set a hard, punishing rhythm for the next hour, neither holding back. By the end of it, Steve was drenched in sweat and breathing heavy. At least Thor didn't seem to be faring any better. Steve was going to count that as a victory.

"Well played, my friend," Thor said, and swiped his towel from the floor. "What say we take a small break, and then I would have you teach me more of these parkour moves of yours."

"You're on."

Steve also grabbed his towel and sank, cross-legged, to the floor. He was thankful that the boxing club didn't mind renting out the basement whenever he and Thor decided to get together. He just wished Thor was around more often. It was nice to pit his full strength against someone, to not hold back. For that matter, it was nice just to be able to punch something that wasn't a bag. Downtime was all well and good, but if Fury or Natasha – or hell, even Clint – didn't call him soon with a mission, he might snap. 

Maybe Sam was right. Maybe he _was_ an adrenaline junkie, using the good fight to keep from thinking about the sorry state of his life and all he'd lost.

"You seem troubled."

"Just working through some things," Steve replied. "Listen, do you mind if I ask you something?"

Thor took a seat next to him, and handed him a Gatorade. "Not at all."

Steve accepted the bottle with a nod of thanks. "What do you do with your days now? I mean, this can't be an easy transition for you, right? You were being groomed to rule a kingdom, an entire _planet_. This has to be an odd switch to living a simple life on Earth."

Thor finished retying his hair and took the time to consider the question. "Some days I assist Jane and Dr. Selvig with their work, some days I take it upon myself to explore my new realm and learn your culture. Some days I feel at loose ends."

"Not just me, then. Feeling like I don't quite have a purpose," Steve clarified.

"Ah, I think I understand," Thor said. "It's not an easy transition to go from the bloodlust of battle to the slower pace of civilian life. I used to have the same feeling of displacement myself after a skirmish. My mother used to assure me that those feelings were quite normal."

"There's that word again. Normal." He still wasn't sure what it meant. Wasn't even sure if that was something he wanted. He wasn't TJ – hell, he was the opposite. The everyday kid who'd dreamed of something bigger and better and had finally got it. _Be careful what you wish for..._

"Do you not wish to lay down your shield?" Thor asked, with a puzzled frown. "I thought you wanted to leave your military life behind and start again." 

"No, I do...I mean, I am, it's just... You know what, ignore me, I think I'm having a long overdue midlife crisis or something." Steve stood, rolled his neck. "You ready to go again?" 

"You should not keep these feelings bottled up inside of you, Steven." In Thor's gaze, Steve saw centuries of leadership and hard-won wisdom. "A true warrior isn't defined by his stoicism. He's defined by his heart."

"That's just it, right. I'm not a warrior anymore. Just a ninety-six-year-old man trying to figure out what to do with the rest of his life."

Thor smiled, wry and quick. "A warrior isn't defined by war, either. And there are many battles that require neither sword nor a shield to fight them."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Steve replied, thinking back to his youth and all the marches and rallies he'd dragged Bucky to – equal wages, better working conditions, better health care for the poor, the list went on. If there'd been a cause, he'd been right there on the front lines. What had happened to that idealism, that belief? He didn't have any answers.

But maybe it was time to rediscover that guy, and see if he was still in there somewhere.

***


	13. Chapter 13

_"Hold on, Buck, just –"_

_He felt the barest brush of fingers against his own before the bar gave way. For a split second, terrified eyes locked with his, then Bucky was gone, his scream echoing in the rush of wind..._

 

Steve woke with a start. Scrubbed his hand over his eyes, and blinked away the moisture gathering at the corners. Flexed both hands, coming up with only empty air. No matter how many times he had the dream, no matter how many times he reminded himself Bucky'd survived, the grief always ripped through him like it was brand new. 

He checked the clock. 4:18am. _Fuck._

It was too early, even for him, for a run. Too early to even think of getting out of bed. But he knew there was no chance he could get back to sleep. Not until he'd reassured himself everything was copacetic.

He swiped his phone off the bedside table, fired off a quick text to Natasha. And only had to wait about a minute before she called.

"Rogers speaking."

"Even for you, this is too early for a social call," Natasha replied, in a low, amused tone that made Steve ache with loneliness.

"Maybe I just missed your voice," he replied, well aware that he was probably revealing too much, and not caring. It was the truth.

"I see," she replied, and her voice gentled. "Still having trouble sleeping?"

It seemed she still knew him far too well. "Just thought I'd check in, see how things are going."

"Sure you were."

"Are you...have you...?" He stumbled over the words, tried again. "Have you heard anything from...?"

"He's fine," Natasha said, in the same gentle voice. "I would have called you if he wasn't. But you made a deal."

"He'll come home when he's ready, I know, I was there when he said it." But Steve forced himself to take a calming breath. Bucky was fine. He had Natasha looking out for him. "And you?"

"All good here," she said. "Clint's taken up needlepoint during our downtime. He claims it helps focus his eye-hand coordination."

Steve tried to picture Clint with a needle and thread hunched over a pattern, but couldn't. "Well, I guess if he starts knitting you know you're in trouble."

She let out a low laugh. "Don't tell me you've taken up knitting."

"No, but I am taking piano lessons."

"I see," she said, drawing out the words. "You any good?"

"Pretty terrible, actually." Half the time, he was sure TJ would write him off as a loss, but it hadn't happened yet. "And, hey, if you wanted to save my sanity and the neighbor's ears..."

"I think Clint and I have everything under control for the moment," she told him. "And I know you're bored, but you'll get the hang of civilian life soon enough."

"Would you?" he asked, curious.

She paused for the briefest of moments. "You're not me. You know how to live a normal life."

_Normal._ He was sick to death of that word. "I guess I'm just out of practice."

"So do something about it," she said. "And I promise, I'll let you know the minute we need you."

"Thanks, Nat. I appreciate it."

"Now go back to sleep," she ordered, but Steve could hear the smile in her voice.

"Yes ma'am," he said, even though they both knew he wouldn't.

***


	14. Chapter 14

Steve heard the toe-tapping beat of a jazz trio as he made his way down the stairs and into TJ's club. He didn't recognize the song, but it was infectious, made him wish he had someone to dance with. Maybe if TJ wasn't too busy, he could talk him into a quick spin – 

He'd just stepped in through the door when TJ bounded over to him with a big, "Hey, Steve!" 

"Hey, thought I'd drop – oomph." 

The full-bodied hug was a surprise. But the kiss was an even bigger one. Steve barely had time to register the feel of warm, soft lips against his own before TJ was tugging him forward, hand clasped firmly in his. "Come on, I want you to meet a friend of mine from D.C."

"Uh...okay." What the hell was going on? 

TJ leaned back in again, but this time his lips brushed Steve's ear. "I'll explain later, I promise," he whispered, his breath an intimate caress along Steve's neck.

Steve pulled back just enough to study TJ's face. He still looked the same – same freckles, same blue-green eyes, same laugh lines around his mouth – but nonetheless, Steve could tell whatever was happening with TJ was a big deal. "Okay," he said, and squeezed TJ's hand to reassure him he'd follow along with whatever it was TJ wanted of him. 

He didn't miss the grateful look TJ flashed at him. " _Thank you_ ," he mouthed, and led Steve over to a booth in the back, where a well-built, bald black guy and a slender, attractive blond man were cozied together on one side. "Alex Bailey, meet Steve Rogers. Steve, I'd like you to meet Alex. We were at William & Mary together."

The bald guy unwound his arm from the blond and stuck out a hand. "Steve Rogers, it's a true honor. I did a paper on you in my comparative sociology class my freshman year of college. About the cultural impact of the Captain America brand across the globe vs. the historical truth about your life."

Sounded boring as hell. 

"Well, I hope you got an A," Steve replied easily. It wasn't the first time someone had mentioned writing a paper on his life. "And I hope you mentioned that I pretty much spent most of my military career going against orders. A lot of people tend to forget that."

"You're a funny guy," Alex grinned, showing off brilliant white teeth. "Who knew Captain America was such a funny guy?"

"Yeah, that's me, a laugh riot in all five boroughs."

"I can see why you two got together," Alex said, transferring that mega-watt smile to TJ. "You always liked a man who could make you laugh."

Got together? TJ had told this Alex fella they were together? That would definitely explain the little scene at the door and the fact that TJ was cozied up against him like a doting boyfriend.

TJ just tightened his hold on Steve's hand. "Well, you know me, Alex. I've always said a hot bod'll fade, but a sense of humor is forever."

The blond at Alex's side gave Steve the sort of glance that, under normal circumstances, would have made him blush ten times over. "Then I'd say you hit the jackpot, since I'm not sure that bod's designed to be anything but perfect all the time."

"Down, Bry, he's taken and so are you," Alex mildly responded. Steve got the feeling he was well-used to his friend's? – boyfriend's? – more outrageous comments.

"No harm in looking," Bry shrugged. "Anyway, have a seat both of you, staring up like that is giving me a crick in my neck."

TJ peered at Steve through lowered lashes. "Do you mind?"

"You're the one with a club to run. I just stopped by to see you." Never let it be said Steve couldn't play his part. And, apparently, right now his part included pretending to be TJ's boyfriend for some reason. It wouldn't be the first time he'd played this role. 

Not that he minded. 

They slid into the other side of the booth, TJ still plastered against his side like he was afraid Steve would disappear if he didn't. Steve thought about trying to find a way to tell him he was playing it a little too thick, but it wasn't that big of a deal. And when he put his arm around TJ's shoulders to pull him in, close enough he could smell the woodsy scent of TJ's shampoo, he caught TJ's grateful smile.

Alex ordered them all a round of drinks and sat back. "So tell me how America's greatest soldier and America's greatest reformed playboy met. And please don't tell me your mother was playing matchmaker."

This question Steve could answer without even needing to pretend. "A fundraiser Tony Stark threw a few months back. TJ asked me to dance and I couldn't say no."

"He does have that way about him," Alex agreed, with another fond look for TJ. "I like seeing you happy. It suits you."

"Thanks, Alex," TJ replied quietly. Steve was just thankful Alex couldn't see under the table where TJ had his thigh in a death grip.

Bry cradled his chin on his hand and leaned forward. "How've you two been keeping this under the radar? The news that Captain America likes men would be worthy of front page news on CNN.com all on its own, let alone that he's dating a Hammond."

"I'm a pretty private guy," Steve replied, with a shrug.

"And we've been spending most of our time either here or at my place," TJ added. Also not technically a lie.

"Which, I have to say, I love the club," Alex said. "And the band. I guess this means New York is a permanent move?"

"So far."

"As long as you're happy." Cody dropped off their drinks, and Alex raised his glass. "Here's to you, TJ Hammond. Striking it out on your own and landing America's most eligible bachelor in the bargain."

Steve paused, glass in mid-air. "I'm what?"

"Three years running," Bry confirmed. "And not just on the straight sites, either, but all of the gay ones. In fact, you knocked TJ off the top of the list on the gay sites."

"Sorry," TJ shrugged. "I thought you knew. It seems like the sort of thing Tony would have teased you about at least once."

"I guess he was saving it up for a rainy day or something."

Most Eligible Bachelor, him. Steve Rogers. Somewhere in the world, Bucky Barnes was laughing his head off, even if he didn't know why. _Jesus_.

***

After about thirty minutes, TJ excused himself to go take care of some matter with the kitchen, but Alex and Bry insisted Steve continue to sit with them, so he spent the rest of the evening getting to know TJ's friends. Thankfully, there were no more questions about his and TJ's supposed relationship, because Steve didn't want to contradict anything TJ might have told them earlier. Instead, they talked about the Orioles and the Yankees and what Steve's views were on the Nets (he didn't really have any – oh sure, he liked basketball just fine, but it wasn't his preferred sport), and all of the new construction going on in Brooklyn along the riverfront. Normal, pleasant small talk. He'd sort of missed it.

Alex and Bry left just before the bar shut down, promising to keep in touch, but Steve stuck around after the last customer had left. The staff was used to him by now, and he could tell TJ was waiting for the chance to talk to him alone.

The second TJ locked the front door, he turned to Steve, a contrite look on his face. "So, uh, I'm really sorry about the, uh, the kiss. I shouldn't have used you like that."

"It's okay," Steve said, with a small smile that he hoped would relax the lines of tension around TJ's mouth. "I mean, it was a pretty terrible kiss, but not bad for our first."

TJ just dropped his face in his hands, and let out a low groan. "You are the worst," he said, voice muffled. "I'm trying to be serious."

"I _am_ being serious. I've definitely had worse first kisses."

TJ lifted his head. "Every single time I think I have a handle on you, you surprise me. I thought you'd be pissed off."

"I was a little confused at first, but I caught on pretty quick. And honestly, I'm sort of used to it," Steve said. "The girls on the USO tour used to trot me out as a pretend boyfriend more often than you might think."

"Yeah, I bet. I can't see anyone trying to get too fresh with the girls with you around."

"That was the idea." Steve took his customary seat at the bar and watched as TJ started the process of closing the stations down. "But, um, out of curiosity, who exactly was he? More than just a friend, right?"

"Old boyfriend from college. Well, one of the colleges I went to before dropping out," TJ amended.

"I'm guessing not a bad breakup, considering how easy you two were around each other tonight." In fact, Steve thought Alex still seemed to care a good deal about TJ's well being.

"No," TJ said, then shook his head. "Not precisely. Actually, he stuck with me a lot longer than he should have, considering how wild I was back then. I didn't make it easy on him."

"Okay." 

"I mean, Alex is a great guy and we're still friends, but he was always so together, you know? Two degrees, has his own business, you met the smokin' hot boyfriend, and I guess I just saw him here tonight and felt like...I don't know. That I had to compete in some way. Like I had something to prove to him."

"You wanted to show him you're not that person anymore," Steve guessed.

TJ winced, his shoulders hunching up almost to his ears. "Yeah, it's terrible, I know."

"Seems like a pretty natural reaction to me," Steve replied. "Believe me, if I'd had a chance to go back to the old neighborhood after I got the serum, there were a few people I would have enjoyed running into."

The tension seemed to bleed out as TJ smiled at him. "Yeah, I guess you would understand more than most. And, uh, you don't have to worry that he'll say anything to the press –"

"I don't care about that," Steve interrupted. He just wanted to smooth out the lines still bracketing TJ's mouth. "I can handle myself with the media. I'm more interested in knowing why you think you need to compete with anyone about anything."

"I know, I know, it was totally immature of me."

"Not exactly what I meant."

"Yeah, I know." TJ let out a breath. "You remember what I told you about my family and growing up around all of that...extraordinaryness? – Is that even a word? – Anyway, you remember that?"

Steve nodded. "I do."

"Well, sometimes...I mean, not all the time, but sometimes...I feel like I need to do something to set myself apart from them. Which, a few years ago, would have meant sleeping around and a shit ton of drugs and thumbing my nose at the rest of the family. But now, I guess I've moved on to using my friends to make myself feel better about running into my ex."

"I already told you, I don't care about that," Steve replied. "And, believe it or not, I know exactly how you felt. Feel. When you grow up as a skinny, sickly runt, you feel like you're in competition with the entire world." He let out a mirthless chuckle. "Buck used to say that the chip on my shoulder was bigger than I was. I'm not sure I ever outgrew it, either."

"Yeah, but you managed to do something pretty extraordinary with your chip," TJ replied, with a gesture Steve's way. "Next to you...man, I think even my dad would feel inadequate, let alone someone like me." 

"Well, I think you're pretty amazing," Steve said, sincere and quiet. "What you've accomplished, the way you've worked for what you have, the way you've turned your life around...it's commendable. And takes an extraordinary amount of courage. Don't let anyone make you feel any different about what you've done, not even yourself."

TJ gave him a small, bashful smile. "A pep talk from Captain America, I'm honored."

"That wasn't from Captain America. Just plain old Steve Rogers." He held TJ's gaze for an extra beat, until he was sure TJ got exactly what he meant.

TJ's eyes softened, and he reached across the bar, laid his hand over Steve's. "There's nothing plain about you, Steve."

"Right back at you, TJ," Steve said, and squeezed back.

***


	15. Chapter 15

The VA group Sam had recommended met on Wednesday nights in the rec room of the Y in Bedford. Steve didn't know how much help going to the meetings was gonna be, but he'd made a promise, and at least it got him out of his apartment. He couldn't spend every night at TJ's club or with Jules playing pinochle and trading stories about the glory days.

He just hoped Natasha or Clint or even Fury would call soon with a job or something for him to do. Something constructive.

He made sure he arrived at the meeting a little early so he could introduce himself to Sam's friend, and to make sure he put himself in the back so his presence wouldn't be a distraction. Sure, he had Sam's assurances that no one would look at him twice, but he'd dealt with far too many vets over the years since he'd woken up, and every single one of them either had a family member who'd joined the service because of him or had some story about a friend who did. He wasn't up for any of that tonight.

Rita Flores was at least a foot shorter than Steve and maybe a buck-ten soaking wet, but her handshake was no-nonsense firm. "Captain. Glad you could make it."

"Thanks." He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He should have grabbed one of the cups of water on the table or a soda or something. "I, um, I'm not sure what Sam's told you, but I'm pretty new at this."

"It's alright, we'll go easy on you," she said with a bright grin. "And don't worry about anyone saying something inappropriate to you. When you emailed to say you were coming, I made sure to tell the group to treat you just like they would any other vet."

"I appreciate it." Although he wasn't sure why he was here, other than not wanting to give Sam another reason to be disappointed in him. He couldn't have anything in common with anyone that was going to walk through those doors. Hell, his war had ended before some of these kids' grandparents had been born. And he really was fine, he was squared away, he was just...bored and not handling it well.

"Just remember that you don't have to share anything if you're not comfortable, but that we're all here to listen and support each other," she continued. "That's what these meetings are about."

"Yes ma'am."

"Alright, well, grab a seat, and we'll get started as soon as everyone arrives."

The group was about fifteen people large, from all branches of the service and all walks of life. Granted, Steve was the only one there who'd fought in World War II, but there were a couple of grizzled Vietnam vets and a couple of guys who'd fought in Panama and Somalia, as well as the younger members who were dealing with the second Iraqi War and Afghanistan. Steve caught a few surreptitious glances his way, but true to Rita's word, no one treated him any different than anyone else. 

In fact, Rita didn't even acknowledge him at all beyond asking if there was anyone new here to the group at the beginning of the meeting, and welcoming him and one other person when they raised their hands. Which made it a lot easier to relax and listen to the stories the others chose to tell.

And, as the hour wore on, most of the stories had a very common, very familiar ring to them. Stories of sleepless nights and listless days. Of feeling lost inside one's thoughts, of coming back from the front to a world they no longer recognized, to friends and family who tried to sympathize, but didn't quite get it. A young woman just back from two tours in Kabul talked about how she didn't quite feel like her life was hers anymore, that every morning when she rolled out of bed, she felt like a stranger inside her own skin. Another Afghan vet talked about how he couldn't fall asleep in his own home because it was quiet – too quiet – and how the only times he got a decent night's sleep was when he passed out on the sofa with the TV blaring at full blast. One of the Vietnam vets confessed that, forty years on, he still couldn't eat rice because it reminded him too much of bloody battle fields and the friends he'd lost. And a couple of kids just back from Iraq said that they were giving serious thought to reenlisting because they missed the rush of combat, that already their days felt grey and without real meaning. Neither one of them looked old enough to have graduated from college yet.

It was sobering, somber stuff. Steve just leaned back and took it all in, gave everyone who spoke his undivided attention, his undivided empathy. His heart ached for how alone everyone sounded, how absent from the world. How they only truly felt like themselves here in this room with fellow soldiers who understood what it was like. Who understood the soul-deep pain and loneliness that nothing could shake. Maybe he wasn't as alone as he'd thought.

But he was also encouraged that everyone shared so much, that they were working through their baggage and trying to reconcile their civilian lives with their military lives. Maybe there was some hope for him that he could come through this on his own. After all, he did have friends, people in his corner who knew a bit about what he was going through. Some of these poor kids sounded like they didn't have anyone. He was lucky.

He needed to remember that. 

But he still couldn't bring himself to say anything aloud about his own troubles sleeping or his own dark dreams. And when the meeting ended, he slipped away out the side door as soon as he could. 

***


	16. Chapter 16

"So, where to tonight?" 

"You're gonna laugh," Steve warned, as he and TJ set off down the sidewalk. Summer had shown up with a sticky vengeance, but Steve didn't mind. At least these days he didn't have to worry about his asthma or allergies acting up. 

"Well, I can't promise not to laugh, but I'm gonna find out eventually, so you may as well tell me."

"Very good point," Steve said. "How do you feel about the Brooklyn golf center?"

TJ pulled up short, those expressive eyes widening in disbelief. "Miniature golf? _Really_?"

"Yep," Steve nodded, and continued down the street.

"I can't believe I'm getting ready to let you talk me into this," TJ lamented, after a minute.

"C'mon, I've never been and it's on the list."

"Miniature golf is on your list?"

Steve opened the notebook and pointed. "I told you, I never lie."

"The sad thing is, I believed you." The breeze ruffled TJ's hair, made it look even more disheveled than normal, and the streetlamps turned light brown strands into shades of copper and gold. "You know, I don't even think I've ever been to a miniature golf place. Not even when we were kids and Mom and Dad dragged Dougie and me all over North Carolina when he was running for re-election as governor."

"See, there you go, you can scratch it off your list, too."

"It was never on my list in the first place."

"You know, if you really don't wanna come..."

"Don't even bat those baby blues at me, I swear, you're worse than a puppy," TJ said, with an exaggerated sigh. "It's lucky for the world that you're a good person, because you could totally use your powers for evil and no one would even care if you looked at them like that."

Which was a little too close to what Bucky used to say to him all the time. "I'm pretty sure there was an insult in there somewhere."

"Other way around," TJ said, bumping against him. "Anyway, come on, let's go pretend we're in suburbia and do this."

Steve insisted on paying – "hey, this was my idea, remember" – and, in no time, they were both equipped with putters and bright neon golf balls and surveying the course. "This is gonna be a total disaster," TJ said, surveying the lay of the land, so to speak.

"Nah, it'll be fine. You wanna keep score or just wing it?"

"I really don't want a reminder of how badly I'm going to suck, so no."

"Whatever you say." Privately, Steve thought TJ was protesting a little _too_ much. "I mean, if you're too scared, that's fine."

"Shut up, I'm not falling for your reverse psychology."

"It was worth a shot."

The grumbling only increased when neither of them hit anywhere close to par on the first three holes. 

"I guess I don't feel so bad if you're terrible at it, too," TJ commented, when Steve failed to hit the hole after the maximum five shots.

"I think the hole is moving."

"I think there are so many _terrible_ and lewd jokes I could make right now, but I won't."

He's missed this the last couple of weeks. Just being around someone who could give him shit and match everything he said without the specter of Captain America hanging over every interaction. "Bring it," he said. "I'm sure I've heard worse."

"I'm sure you have." TJ set up his next shot, tried to curve it around the triangle barrier and wound up just nicking it and sending the ball careening off in the opposite direction. "Son of a bitch."

"I can't believe people bring their kids here," Steve commented with a frown, after his shot also went wide. "Unless it's supposed to be a lesson in abject humiliation."

"Let's go with that one and not that we're just exceptionally bad."

Steve's next shot came within about a half inch of going in, and the ball just _stopped_. "I'm convinced this course hates me."

TJ gave him a bright grin. "I'm irrationally amused by how terrible you are. It's like a visual representation of your flirting skills."

"My flirting skills are fine." Alright, fine was probably stretching it, but he was doing better. 

"You really are a terrible liar," TJ said after a minute, then walked to the next hole. The obstacle was some moat looking bridge thing. Steve was already dreading it.

"You know you're not the first person to tell me that."

"It's just lucky for you your skill set is as a soldier and not a spy, because you wouldn't have lasted ten minutes."

Then TJ hit the ball and they both watched in silence as it hit the bridge perfectly and sailed into the hole. TJ rounded on him with a wide, disbelieving grin. The look on his face was as infectious as it was priceless. "Holy shit, did you see that shot?"

"Yeah, you're a regular miniature golf shark," Steve joked. "I see how you are, getting me to let my guard down before you lay the hammer."

"I guess all those summers at Camp David playing around on the driving range with my brother really were good for something."

"See, and it only took six holes for it all to come back to you," Steve said, with another grin. TJ's joy really was the best thing Steve had seen all week. He started to set up his own shot, and the smile faded when he caught sight of the two teenage girls playing one hole behind them. Both of them had their phones out, and he thought they were trying to be subtle about it, but there wasn't much doubt about what they were doing.

He nudged TJ's elbow, and dropped his voice. "Don't look back or anything, but I think those two girls behind us are filming us."

"Yeah, I noticed," TJ quietly replied. "They've been at it off and on for the past five, ten minutes or so."

So much for Steve's observational skills. Guess he really wasn't cut out to be a spy. "You want me to say something to them?"

"Nah, it's fine. By now they probably have at least one video up on Instagram or Vine or YouTube. And hey, maybe they'll sell them for a few bucks and it'll pay for their rent or school books or something."

"I'm sorry," Steve offered, his pleasure in the evening dimmed. The last thing he'd wanted was to expose TJ to any kind of scrutiny or attention. "Coming here was my idea, I should have –"

"Hey, don't." TJ put his hand on Steve's arm, and shook his head. "I've been dealing with this my whole life. Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. Besides, I think they've been way more interested in filming your ass than they have me, and I can't say that I'd blame them."

Which didn't make it right, but Steve was happy that TJ was able to make jokes about it. "I'm glad I wore jeans that fit, then."

"Do you own any clothes that _don't_?"

"Um..."

"See, that's exactly what I'm talking about. I swear, that blush of yours is like clockwork," TJ grinned. "All this time we've been friends and you still can't take a compliment."

"Guess you're not doing a very good job of teaching me how to flirt, then." Steve glanced at the girls again. They were bent over their phones and giggling. "You sure you don't want me to –"

"I'm sure. I don't need a white knight. I mean, if you want to, go for it, but don't do it on my account," TJ said. "They'll get bored in a few minutes and leave us alone. Unless you _wanted_ to give them something to film..."

His grin was sly, wicked, and absolutely breathtaking. It took Steve a few seconds to remember the thread of the conversation. "Um, oh... _oh._ We could. I guess. If you wanted," Steve added. "But, I think...wouldn't that just make it worse? You'd probably have reporters and such camped outside your club asking about me and I know you've worked too hard to have a normal life, it wouldn't be right..."

"You really are the most fundamentally decent person I've ever met." TJ nudged Steve's shoulder. "Besides, you'd probably hate it if I did say anything to the media, because I'd have to tell them that you're a terrible kisser –"

"– You didn't even give me a chance to respond!" Steve frowned. "And, you're the one that kissed me first."

"Mmhmm. Whatever you say."

"You are such an ass," Steve grumbled, but knocked TJ's shoulder with his own.

"Maybe you could make a show of bending over and wiggling a lot, really give them something to film..."

" _Not_ listening."

***


	17. Chapter 17

One of the small joys of living in the future and having so much free time on his hands nowadays – and he still had far too much of it – was getting out and about and discovering cool little out of the way places like Black Gold Records. Part coffee bar, part curio shop, part vinyl record store, it was one of Steve's favorite places to go when he had some time to kill or when he was looking to add to his burgeoning record collection. 

The shop was small enough that he didn't feel overwhelmed whenever he walked in. It was brightly lit, filled with some of the oddest artifacts he'd ever seen, including polished skulls, stuffed birds, and idiosyncratic signs and posters on the walls. But the place always smelled like fresh bread and roasted coffee and no one batted an eyelash when he'd first walked in the door. It was a good enough reason to keep coming back, aside from the staff's excellent taste in punk rock and the truly amazing dark roast they always had on hand.

Tanja, who was working behind the coffee counter as usual, greeted Steve with a cheery wave when he walked in. "What's the word today, Cap?" Her jet-black hair was liberally streaked with hot pink today, and Steve was pretty sure she was sporting both a new eyebrow piercing and a new tattoo snaking along one wrist.

"Hey, Tanja, how're your classes?"

"Rocking Victorian Lit and Eastern Philosophy and I'm totally signing up for the Advanced Drawing class over the summer, based entirely on you saying you'd take it with me, so don't let me down."

"I only said I'd think about auditing the class if it's okay with your teacher," Steve replied. He stepped up to the counter, and pulled his well-worn notebook out of his back pocket. 

"I'll ask, but I'm sure it's fine," she replied, then gestured at the notebook. "What've you got for me?"

Steve looked at the neatly written list. "Looking for anything by the, um, The Cramps and Hüsker Dü and, uh, The Dead Kennedys."

A random discussion a few months ago between Clint and Sam on the best music of the '70s had led Steve to discovering the intensity and rawness and DIY attitude of the punk movement, and he'd quickly fallen in love with the genre. Something about both the 'us against the world' mentality as well as the social rebellious culture appealed to him on a purely instinctual level. Not to mention, he loved the clean aggressiveness of the music itself.

"Good choices all," she said, and pushed forward an iced coffee. "How'd you like bands I sent you home with last week?"

"Loved The Clash, thought _London Calling_ was incredible, and I'm very interested in hearing more from the Bad Brains," Steve said. "And I'm still not sure why The Ramones are considered punk when they have such strong melodic hooks, but they're really good."

Daniel, one of the other Black Gold regulars and a student friend of Tanja's, pushed square-framed black glasses up his nose and leaned next to Steve on the counter. He had the disheveled look about him that probably meant he'd just pulled an all-nighter studying for a test, and the nervous sort of energy that meant he'd been trying to combat it with way too many iced Americanos. "You know you'd give half of the country a heart attack if they could hear you talking about punk rock."

Steve shrugged as he paid for his coffee. "Then they either weren't paying attention to what I was like in real life or no one bothered to talk to anyone who knew me before they started writing books about me."

"Yeah, all those rules you broke in getting the Commandos team together, doesn't surprise me at all that punk's your speed," Tanja said.

"I was breaking rules long before the serum."

"The anti-establishment movement would have had kittens if they'd had someone like you in their corner back in the day," Daniel said.

"I think he just likes upending societal conventions about himself," Tanja said, with a grin. "Everyone expects you to be stuck on Glenn Miller and you're out there rocking out to Minor Threat and The Voidoids." 

"It's not just the music," Steve said. "I like bands that have something to say about the world they lived in. Ones that weren't just protesting against something, they stood _for_ something." It reminded him of his days marching for better wages or better factory working conditions or better health care in the tenements.

"Wait 'til you get into Bob Dylan and early U2, they'll blow your mind," Daniel said.

"I'm just waiting for him to get to Fugazi or Rage Against The Machine or anything Tom Morello does," Tanja added, just as the door opened and a skinny, ill-kempt looking guy stumbled in wearing layers of clothes despite the heat outside and giving everyone a vacant stare.

"Oh man," Tanja sighed, "poor guy, he must've gotten kicked off his curb. Hey, Marty, you know you can't stay in here, we've talked about this. I'm really sorry."

The man stopped, peered at Tanja out of bloodshot eyes. "I ain't hurtin' nobody."

"No one said you were, but you know the rules. Bossman's orders."

She sighed and shook her head when Marty turned and walked out the door and sat on one of the benches that were just under the storefront windows. "I hate calling the cops on guys like that, y'know."

"What's his story?"

Tanja shrugged. "Vet who came home, couldn't adjust, got hooked on something, painkillers, I think or opiates, and now he's on the streets."

"And H.U.D. can't get him housing?" Steve asked, with a frown.

"Not sure if anyone's tried. He's not always coherent," Daniel said. "I see him around the neighborhood sometimes. He never bothers anyone, but he's not always all there, either, y'know."

Sadly, it was a situation Steve knew all too well. "Let me make a call," he said. Sam would no doubt know of someone or some organization who could maybe find Marty a place to sleep or a place to get clean or something. Or, if Sam didn't know of anyone local, TJ no doubt knew of someplace or had connections he could call. "And, um, let me at least buy him a coffee or something to eat." 

"You're a good guy, Cap. Shame there aren't more people like you who can help."

Steve wasn't sure making a phone call and buying someone a meal made him any better than anyone else out there, but he had to admit, it did feel good to be doing _something_ worthwhile.

***

"I really hate this shit," Clint muttered, just loud enough for Steve to hear.

"Agreed," he replied, just as softly. "Thanks for coming out with me."

"I drew the short straw."

Steve swallowed the smile, and directed his eyes forward, focusing on the back of the room. The speaker droned on, lauding the Avengers for, well, whatever it was. Honestly, Steve had forgotten the reason he and Clint were here, other than Maria threatening him with bodily harm if he skipped out.

Tony, of course, had cited too many ongoing meetings or experiments or whatever it was, Bruce shunned the spotlight for very understandable reasons, Natasha was still in the wind working with Fury to continue rooting out the last of the Hydra bases, and Thor was back in London. Which just left Steve and Clint, who happened to be in town for some upgrades to the quinjet. Steve was getting really tired of being the Dependable Avenger.

He wanted to be out there, making a difference, not listening to some politician drone on and on about public safety and neighborhood initiatives and working with his Good Friends Steve Rogers and Clint Barton when Steve couldn't even remember the guy's name.

Hopefully he could sneak out early enough to swing by TJ's place for his next piano lesson. He'd been coming along pretty well (okay, so well was a relative term) and he hadn't seen TJ in a few days. He fished his phone out as surreptitiously as he could, fired off a quick text to TJ, and grinned when he got the even quicker reply to please drop by and save TJ from an afternoon of laundry.

"What're you all smiley about?" Clint asked, with a gentle bump of elbows. "If I'm miserable, I'd at least like company."

"Sorry, just texting with TJ."

"I gotta meet this kid at some point, make sure he's good enough for you."

"For the hundredth time, it's not like that."

"And for the hundred-and-first time, denial ain't just a river in Egypt."

Steve sighed. "Remind me why we're friends."

"Because I'm the best sniper you know," Clint said, with a grin. "At least, until your sidekick comes back into the fold."

Steve didn't even bother to argue with Clint on that one. Bucky _was_ a better sniper, even if he was, and had always been, the furthest thing from a sidekick. If anything, it was the other way around, especially when they'd been kids.

By mutual unspoken agreement, Steve and Clint stuck together for the reception/meet-and-greet after, neither especially wanting to work the room or get stuck in monotonous conversation with strangers. Steve gave them fifteen minutes, tops, before he made their excuses and got them the hell out. With any luck, they'd still have their sanity intact.

"Captain, word is you and TJ Hammond have gotten close these last few months."

Steve stared down at the reporter – small and blond, with hair that didn't move and lips painted a killer shade of red – who'd managed to insinuate herself between him and Clint. "Okay?" he said, not sure if she was actually asking a question or stating a fact.

"How do you feel about his colorful past as a promiscuous playboy, and how has that affected your friendship?"

"I'm friends with Tony Stark," he reminded her, with a quick look to Clint, who looked just as lost. Why was she even bringing this up? "That should tell you all you need to know about how much I care about what someone's done in the past."

"So, the drug use and the one-night stands...they don't bother someone with your moral backbone and fiber?" she asked, with all the persistence of a dog with a bone.

Moral backbone and fiber. Like he was some sort of expert on the subject instead of a kid who'd been so desperate to serve his country that he'd altered the entire course of his life and had undertaken a dangerous experiment in order to do it. Like the fact that he'd helped win a few battles made him any sort of authority on anything. 

It took considerable effort to keep his tone even. "No, it doesn't bother me at all. Whatever TJ Hammond has done or will do with his personal life doesn't concern you. And our friendship is none of your business or anyone else's. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

It was only once he'd walked to the other side of the room and the cameras were out of sight that he realized his hands were shaking. 

He leaned against the wall and took a few deep, calming breaths until the urge to march back across the room to the reporter vanished. It wouldn't do any good. And, in all honestly, she'd probably welcome the attention and the coverage. He'd be damned if he was going to give it to her. TJ had worked too hard to build a new life for himself away from the spotlight for Steve to drag him back into it, no matter what the provocation. 

A cup of water appeared in front of him and he glanced up, met Clint's dispassionate gaze. "Take it," Clint urged in a hushed voice.

Steve downed half the contents in one sip, and took another deep breath. And one more for good measure. "Thanks."

"Feeling any better?" Clint asked, after a minute.

"Not really, no."

"Yeah, you looked about two seconds from punching something," Clint agreed. "Shame Tony's not here to deflect all the attention onto himself."

"I don't know how he does it. How TJ does it. This scrutiny and judgment and expecting me of all fucking people to care about any of it..." He rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "Sorry, I know it's part of the job –"

"No, I'm pretty sure you still get the right to be pissed when anyone's saying shit about your friends. I mean, other than your other friends, of course," Clint grinned, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't sweat it."

"Yeah, okay." He finished the water and tossed the cup into the nearby trashcan. "I could use a beer."

"Now you're talking," Clint said. "I know just the place, where the beer's nice and cold and the waitresses are red hot."

"Sounds perfect," Steve replied, and let Clint steer him out of the room.

***


	18. Chapter 18

The brick six-story building just off Hegemon didn't look like much from the outside, but Steve knew as well as anyone that looks could be deceiving. Besides, how it looked on the outside didn't matter anyway. It was on a nice block, and the area and building both looked well-maintained, which was far more important.

He heard his name called and turned, raised his hand in greeting to TJ and the woman walking next to him. Must be the case worker from Common Ground, he thought, taking in her professional attire and upswept hair. 

"Why am I not surprised that you beat us here?" TJ asked, when they got close enough. The breeze fluttered at the collar of his shirt. He turned to the woman. "Grace, I'd like you to meet Steve Rogers. Steve, this is Grace Whitmore. She runs the Veterans Initiative program for Common Ground."

Steve shook the offered hand, offered a sincere smile. "Thank you for taking the time to meet with me. I know how busy you must be."

She smiled and gave TJ an affectionate look. "Even if I hadn't wanted to meet _the_ Steve Rogers in person, there's no way I could turn down TJ."

"Grace is an old family friend," TJ explained.

"What he means is, I used to date his brother," Grace continued, then gestured at the building. "As you can see, this is one of our newer buildings, built in 2011, LEED silver, with a rooftop garden and a courtyard area in the back. It has 161 units, with 100 dedicated to housing the formerly homeless and the rest going to low-income renters who qualify for the program."

"Yeah, I've read about you guys and what you're doing," Steve said. "It's remarkable. And admirable."

The Common Ground organization, started in 1990, had set out to help place the chronically homeless into permanent housing, with a special focus on the disabled, the elderly, and veterans. To date, they'd built or created over 5000 housing units, and had buildings scattered all across the five boroughs and in upstate New York. Their Street to Home initiative, which provided not only housing, but counseling and financial advice, was one of the most successful homeless initiatives in the country.

"That's Gracie, alright," TJ smiled, loping an arm around her shoulders. "A fearless crusader for the disenfranchised."

There was no small amount of love in his voice. Steve couldn't help but envy their easy bond. "So, um, how many vets do you have in the building?"

"This one?" She tapped something on her phone. "Looks like twelve at the moment. There are a couple of other Vietnam vets, so your friend shouldn't feel too displaced."

"Oh, Marty's not...I mean, I don't know him or anything. He's just...I've seen him around the neighborhood," Steve explained. "I'm just doing a favor for a fellow vet, that's all."

"Steve is also a crusader," TJ said, transferring that smile Steve's way. "It's too bad for you Gracie's happily married."

"I can find my own dates," Steve reminded him. 

"With the way you look, I'm not surprised," Grace commented, over TJ's laughter.

"Hey, he's more than just a pretty face –"

"TJ –"

"– And there it is," TJ finished, stepping forward to pinch Steve's pinkened cheek. "Come on, let's get the grand tour, and talk shop, see if we can get this friend of yours who's not a friend some help and get him off the streets."

"Yeah, okay," Steve said, and followed TJ and Grace into the building. And if his face still tingled from TJ's easy, light touch, well, it was no one's business but his own.

***


	19. Chapter 19

One day, Steve would remember to check the forecast before he left his apartment. The storm had come out of nowhere, rain falling in heavy sheets and drenching everything in its path. By the time he made it to TJ's club, he was soaked to the skin and thankful it was a warm day out. He let himself in with the key TJ had made for him and headed down the steps. 

TJ was pacing near the stage, clipboard in hand, phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder.

"No, Antonio, that's not acceptable, I don't know how many times we need to have this conversation, you – hey, hold on a second –" TJ stepped to the bar, tossed Steve a white bar towel, and mouthed 'sorry, vendor' at him, then went back to the phone. "Where was I – oh, right, your driver..."

Steve left TJ to his call and headed into the back room, mopping at his face and arms the best he could. There wasn't much he could do about his jeans, but he did take off his button-down to lay over a nearby chair to dry. Thankfully, he was just stripping the paneling off the walls today, and not meeting with any contractors or painters. And after about thirty minutes of working the belt sander, he was happy to be only wearing his undershirt. He just wished he'd remembered to bring ear plugs.

By the time he was finished with one wall, he was soaked again, this time with sweat, and pretty sure he would need at least two showers just to get all of the grit and grime off. The thin cotton of his shirt was sticking to him like a second skin. But it was worth it to see the room starting to take shape. It was going to be a great addition to the club.

He swiped his water bottle and took a few long pulls before dumping the rest of it over his head. Maybe he could get TJ to bring a fan in here, at least until he was ready to start varnishing – 

When he blinked his eyes open, he saw TJ standing just inside the door, watching him with an indescribable look on his face.

"Oh hey, I didn't see you." Steve snagged the towel from the floor, started quickly wiping at the sweat and water on his forearms and neck. "I hope you don't mind that I started on my own. I just really wanted to get this part done."

TJ finally stepped inside and walked towards him. "No, uh...it's fine." He sounded oddly hesitant. "You've got a little..." His hand hovered near Steve's cheek. "Do you mind?"

Steve could only shake his head as gentle fingers brushed against his cheek and eyebrow. The touch was as light as air, but Steve couldn't move. His legs felt rooted to the spot, and rubbery in a way that had nothing to do with the hard physical labor he'd just been doing.

"Wood dust," TJ said softly, holding up his fingers. He was close enough that Steve could see the thin ring of green around the irises of his eyes. Close enough he could count every freckle on TJ's nose. The air felt thick and heavy, like the air before a storm. Steve's breath caught and held at the look TJ was giving him.

Then TJ stepped back and the spell was broken. "So, um..." TJ rubbed his hands over his jeans, gave Steve a bright smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You need some help?"

"Uh, sure." Steve cleared a suddenly dry throat and forced his feet to move. "Sure, that'd be great."

***


	20. Chapter 20

"...You're sure this is okay?" Bruce asked, pushing up his glasses with one finger as he led Steve into the lab.

"Yeah, I'm happy to help," Steve said. "What do you need?"

"A blood sample and for you to run on a treadmill for about twenty minutes," Tony said, swiping at a file on one of the monitors. "You up for it?"

"Yeah, of course. Not like I'm doing anything else today."

"We gotta find you something to do," Tony declared. "You should really give some thought to Pepper's suggestion on joining her foundation. You'd be great working with the kids."

"I am giving it some thought. I'm just...I'm not sure what I want to do just yet." Steve picked up a small screwdriver from the cluttered countertop, set it down. "I can't explain it."

"You're the best soldier the world has ever seen, and you don't have a mission," Bruce said, with one of his self-deprecating shrugs. "I'd say that sums it up pretty well, wouldn't you?"

Okay, maybe _not_ all that hard to explain. "Yeah, I guess it does." 

"Maybe you just need to expand your parameters," Bruce said. "What are you doing in the meantime?"

"Got an invite from a friend of Maria's at the DOD to train some of the SEAL and Delta Troops, so I'm mulling that over. Oh, and, um, I'm still working with TJ on the smoking room for his club –"

"I knew there was something going on with you two," Tony said, jabbing his stylus in the air like he was a conductor in front of an orchestra.

"No, it's not like – well, I don't think it's not –" Steve stopped. Thought about that night when he and TJ had pretended to be dating and how easy and natural it had felt. Thought about that moment between them a few days ago, when it seemed like...well, he'd been about to... "You know what, it might be."

"Is that something you want?" Bruce asked. 

"I'm not sure. Maybe." He stopped, shrugged.

"You're blushing." Tony leaned in, a gleeful expression on his face. "Steve Rogers with a crush. I feel like a proud parent."

"Thanks, Tony, you're a big comfort." Steve sat on one of the stools. "Besides, even if it was or I did, I don't think TJ's interested."

"What's not to be interested in when you look like you?" Tony asked, waving his fingers in Steve's direction. "Besides, now I want to know who the guy is."

"Who what guy is?"

"The guy you were involved with or in love with before TJ."

"I'm not in love or involved with TJ."

"I know you're not now," Tony interrupted, with another wave. "My point is, you're not acting like a man who's in the midst of a sexual identity crisis, so you've at least thought about men in the not-just-friends context at least once."

Steve turned to Bruce for a Tony-to-English translation. "What Tony's asking is how long have you known you were attracted to men as well as women."

"Oh." He could feel the blush started to spread to his neck and ears. "Um, a long time. Pre-serum."

"Hmmm. So, if it wasn't Barnes – you were pretty clear you two never went down that road – was it another of the Howlin' Commandos or...it wasn't dear old Dad, was it, because that would make so much sense –"

Steve wasn't sure if he was more horrified that Tony thought that he and Howard had been intimate or that he'd been so quick to jump to that conclusion. "No, I was never involved with Howard." 

"That's a relief, I guess. Although he did have a big mancrush on you, so if you _had_ wanted to go there..."

"You really need to stop talking about sex and your father in the same sentence."

"Well, whoever it was you were involved with, it's none of our business," Bruce said, with a quick, quelling look Tony's way. "And whatever you decide to do or not do about TJ is also your business and no one else's."

"Thank you, Bruce."

What the hell was he even talking about? TJ was a friend and Steve had no business thinking about anything else. Sure, TJ wouldn't be the first guy to attract Steve's interest, but Steve wasn't exactly in the right frame of mind to start a relationship, and he got the impression that TJ wasn't in the market for one himself. It was best to just try to ignore it and hope this odd feeling or flutter or whatever it was would die a natural death.

***


	21. Chapter 21

Steve took the steps to his floor two at a time. He maybe had just enough time to get in a quick shower before he had to head back out, but it would be a close call. Not that he thought TJ would care if he was late under normal circumstances, but one of TJ's friends was making their Broadway debut tonight and Steve knew TJ wanted them to be in their seats well before curtain.

He unlocked the front door, mind still on everything he needed to get done, and pulled up short when he saw Natasha Romanov. She was wearing her black jumpsuit and her bright red hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. She sat comfortably curled up on his sofa.

"For someone who claims he doesn't have a life, you're very late getting home." 

"I volunteered at the homeless shelter today doing intake evals," he said, then frowned. "And how the hell did you get in –"

"Please," she scoffed. "Your security is laughable. Suit up, I need you with me."

 _Finally._ Although the timing maybe could have been a helluva lot better. "Where and how long?"

"A few days, and I'll fill you in once we're airborne."

"Give me five minutes to change and make a call," he said, and pulled out his phone on his way to the bedroom.

TJ answered on the first ring. "You couldn't go another ten minutes without hearing my voice?"

Steve smiled at the teasing note to TJ's voice. "I'm pretty sure there isn't a good way for me to answer that."

"Terrible, Steve, really," TJ sighed, exaggerated and fond, "and I thought we were making so many good strides in your flirting game, too." 

Steve studiously ignored the way his pulse hiccupped and started unbuttoning his shirt. "Uh, yeah, about that. Something's come up and I can't make it tonight. I'm really sorry."

"Oh. Oh, okay, that's...okay," TJ said, sounding disappointed. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah yeah, it's, um...I'm fine." He quickly stripped out of his shirt and jeans, thought longingly of the shower he wasn't going to get, and pulled his stealth suit out of the closet. "I guess you could say this is Avengers related."

"Oh, well, in that case, be careful," TJ said, teasing replaced by concern. "Text me or call when you're back?"

He zipped his suit and sat on the edge of the bed to lace on his boots. "Sure thing, of course, uh, and sorry about –"

"Don't sweat it," TJ said. "Just go save the world or take out a drug cartel or rescue a bunch of kids or whatever it is and get back in one piece."

"Planning on it. And I'll make it up to you, I promise." 

"I'll be sure to think of something appropriate."

Steve laughed as they said their goodbyes, and when he hung up, he noticed Natasha leaning against the doorjamb, watching him. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just nice to see you're still as bad at flirting as ever," she said. "You ready?"

He finished fastening his utility belt and grabbed his shield. "Let's go."

True to her word, Natasha filled Steve in on the mission parameters and sit-rep – a quick Hydra base takedown in Nepal – pretty bread and butter, but Steve was so bored even a milk run sounded like heaven. 

"Hey, so I don't suppose you've heard from Bucky," he said, once the two of them boarded the quinjet and Natasha had gotten them off the ground.

"Clint and I ran into him last month in Maracay. We were all chasing after the same high level Hydra agent," she said. "He looked better."

"That's good. I'm glad." And if he couldn't quite quell the disappointment that Bucky still wasn't ready to get in touch with him, that was his cross to bear, not anyone else's.

"Although...while we're on the subject of Bucky and people who look like him, rumor has it you and TJ Hammond are an item." Her hands were steady at the controls. 

"TJ and I are just friends."

"Is that what the kids are calling spending all your free time with one person?" she said, shooting him a quick, full-lipped grin. 

"It's not like that."

"Do you want it to be like that?"

"Ten minutes, and you're already trying to hook me up with someone," he lamented.

"You didn't answer my question," she said. "Do you want to make a move on TJ or not?"

"Have you been talking to Stark?"

"Bruce, actually. And Clint. They're both worried about you."

"Because I haven't made a move on TJ?"

"Because you're not moving on with _anything_. You can't keep your life in a holding pattern until Barnes gets his shit straightened out and comes home."

"I haven't been," Steve protested. "I'm not waiting for Bucky." He knew better. Who knew how long it would take Buck to work through...whatever it was he needed. 

"Then what _are_ you waiting on?" she asked, with another quick glance his way.

Good question. Shame he didn't really have an answer to give her. "I don't know. Maybe I'm just waiting for all of this to seem...real," he finished. It wasn't precisely the right word, but it was close enough to what he meant.

"Steve..." There was a wealth of patience in the one word. "It's well past time you started living your life. You're still a young man in all the ways that matter."

He didn't have the heart to tell Natasha that most days he felt as old as the hills. "I do, but I also remember where I came from. I don't want to lose that." His memories were about the only thing he had left that were truly his.

"You won't," Natasha said, with a confident nod. "But you of all people should know to grab your happiness when and where you can."

"Maybe," he said, unwilling to commit to more than that.

***


	22. Chapter 22

"So, what are you doing for the 4th this year?" TJ asked, after Steve finished his halting attempt at playing "Someone Like You" on the piano. It was still sort of...not good, but, in his defense, he hadn't been around much lately to practice. (His version of "Hey Jude", however, was 100% ready for primetime.) "Any big blowout birthday plans? Tony hiring a bunch of patriotic-themed strippers? Brooklyn throwing a parade in your honor?"

Steve shuddered "God, I hope not." He bumped TJ's knee when he shifted, tried really hard not to think about just how close together the two of them were. He'd never get another word out if he did. "And, um, actually, I sort of promised the Nationals I'd throw out the first pitch at their game on the 4th, since they're doing some special something or another in honor of my birthday."

"Ah, D.C., my old stomping grounds, sounds like fun."

"I don't suppose you wanna come down with me," Steve said, then winced at how it had to sound. "Sorry, you probably have plans already, forget I –"

"I'd love to."

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah, really," TJ said, with one of his warm, welcoming smiles. "Mom and Nana've been making noises about me coming down for a visit, and this'll give me an excuse. Besides, my brother's been wanting to meet you."

"That doesn't sound vaguely alarming or anything."

"Nah, he's harmless," TJ said, running light fingers along the keys. "Just compliment him on his hair or the awesome decorating job Anne did on the house, and you'll be fine."

"Hair, house, got it. And, uh, you don't have to go to the game with me or anything if you don't want..."

"Are you kidding, and miss the Captain America birthday festivities?" TJ grinned. "You think they'll give away little shields or bobbleheads?"

That sounded just as bad as Tony hiring strippers, if Steve was honest. He had enough problems knowing there were honest-to-God comics and action figures of him out in the world, not to mention the books and films. "I think they're just doing a special fireworks show and inviting the kids to come dressed as me." Which also sounded weird when he said it out loud.

"Definitely going, then," TJ stated. "Besides, I like baseball. Getting to go to games for free was one of the few perks I liked while Dad was the president."

"It's baseball. What's not to like about it?" Anyone who didn't like baseball was someone Steve automatically distrusted.

"I bet you still root for the Dodgers, too, don't you."

"What can I say, I'm a loyal kinda guy. They're still my team."

"It's still gotta freak you out some days, I bet," TJ said, giving him another sidelong glance. "Knowing that everything's so different now."

"Not as much as it used to," Steve admitted. "There's a lot to like about the future."

"Well, the future's lucky to have you," TJ said, and bumped his shoulder, companionable and friendly. 

Steve just smiled and nodded. His throat felt about as dry as the Sahara. "So, is there anything you want to do or any place you want to visit while we're down there...?"

TJ just gave him a long look from under his eyelashes. "Sure, I can show you some of my old haunts, tell you all the places I scored coke or got blowjobs from groupies."

Yeah, that mental image was really not a good one to have in his head right now. Not unless he wanted to embarrass himself a lot more than he probably was. "I, uh..."

Then TJ grinned, showing off the laugh lines around his mouth, and Steve went down for the count again. "I swear, that look on your face should come with its own warning label for adorable."

Adorable, as bad as it sounded, was better than the alternative. "Sorry, I just...I guess I wasn't expecting you to joke about those days."

"Hey, it's either joke about it or go cry in a corner somewhere feeling sorry for myself and all the wasted years."

"Trust me, there's not a lot of good in looking back and wondering what if."

"I guess you'd know better than anyone," TJ said, and nudged Steve again. "Now, come on, back to work. I want Adele to be able to come in here and sing along without missing a beat."

***


	23. Chapter 23

Steve should have brought flowers or dessert. Or a bottle of wine. Or at least a six-pack of beer. His mother would surely be spinning in her grave if she knew that he'd shown up at another person's house for dinner and hadn't brought anything with him to contribute or to at least show his thanks. But there hadn't been time for much of anything with all he'd had to do today, and now here he was, empty-handed, getting ready to knock on the door of Doug and Anne Hammond's Georgetown brownstone, and he really should have stopped for flowers.

A very attractive Asian woman in jeans, a loose turquoise patterned shirt and bare feet, answered the door. She blinked large brown eyes up at him. "Okay, wow, you're taller than I'd thought you'd be. And even better looking in person."

He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets to keep from fidgeting. "Um, okay?"

"Oh God, sorry, I tend to blurt things out when I'm nervous," she said, and stuck out a hand. "I'm Anne Hammond, it's an honor to meet you."

He took it with an inward sigh of relief. "Steve Rogers. Thanks for the invitation to dinner."

"Oh, it's no problem, come on in. The boys are on the back patio wrestling with the grill, I think," she said, leading him through a hallway and into a spacious living room-slash-kitchen area. "Did you want a beer or wine or anything?"

"Sure, a beer would be good." He busied himself looking around the room. Nice art on the walls, expensive looking entertainment center, high end furniture – the room whispered class and wealth without being overbearing about it. It reminded him a little of TJ's club, which made a certain amount of sense, considering. "Oh, thanks," he said, when Anne pressed a bottle of Sam Adams into his hand. "I like the look of the room. It's very welcoming."

"Thank you," Anne smiled, showing off a very sexy mole. "Doug thinks it's too fussy, but I like it, and wow, your eyes are really impossibly blue, it's super distracting." 

"Who's distracting you and how can I – oh hey Steve, you made it." TJ pulled him into an all-too brief hug, then turned to the handsome man who was giving Anne a very affectionate kiss. "Dougie, stop making out with your wife and come meet your childhood crush."

"I hate you so much right now," Doug complained, but stepped forward, hand outstretched. He was slightly taller and a little broader through the shoulders than TJ, and his hair was a darker shade of brown, but there was no denying the family resemblance around the eyes and mouth. (In fact, he looked a lot like Bucky's cousin, Robby, who'd died in Italy in '44.) Also, like TJ, he was casually dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. "Douglas Hammond. It's nice to finally meet you, Captain. TJ's talked a lot about you the last few months."

"Only good things, I hope."

"Please, are you kidding me, it was all terrible...oh wait, that's right, you don't _have_ any terrible traits." TJ grinned, knocking Steve's shoulder with his own. "Unless we're talking about the flirting skills..."

"I keep telling you, it's your fault I'm not better at it," Steve said. He lifted the beer bottle to his lips and hoped it might hide the slight blush. 

"Alright, no heckling the guest of honor," Anne declared. "How're the steaks coming along?"

"Perfect," TJ said, and slung an arm around Anne's waist. "C'mon, let's put the salad together."

"I'll get that," Doug said, when the doorbell rang again. "It's probably Grandma."

"Margaret's joining us?" Steve asked, following Anne and TJ to the small bar separating the kitchen from the living room. 

"Please, like I could keep her away," TJ said, getting out the cutting board and knife. 

Anne set a few tomatoes and peppers and carrots on the counter. "Like you'd even want to."

"She is my favorite," TJ agreed, as Margaret and Doug walked into the room.

Margaret's eyes lit up and she made a beeline to Steve's side. "Steven, I was thinking you were avoiding me."

"Never." Steve smiled, and bent to give Margaret a kiss on the cheek. The light scent of her perfume teased his senses. "You look great."

She winked, and made a show of patting her hair. "I make do with what I've got."

"Don't let her fool you, she was trying on outfits all afternoon," Anne grinned.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to look nice for a young man."

"And I appreciate the effort," Steve said.

"I'd be careful, bro, I think Grandma's got her sights on your guy."

"Not my guy, Dougie," TJ replied, and scraped the carrot slices into the salad bowl. 

"Well, that's a crying shame," Margaret said. "You're much too young to be living like a monk."

TJ narrowed his eyes at her. "Don't start, Nana."

She put her hands up. "I'm just saying what I think, kiddo, that's all."

Anne looked back and forth between the two of them. "Are you two really going to start that again?"

"No, we're not," TJ said, with another hard look Margaret's way.

"It's your funeral, and I'm shutting up now," Margaret said. "Come help fix me a drink, would you, Anne?"

"Sure."

"Sorry about that, Steve," TJ said, like he had to feel sorry for anything, then he glanced at Doug. "Any word on when Mom's getting here?"

"Coleman snagged her on the way out," Doug said, with a rueful shrug. "She texted a bit ago, she's not sure if she'll make it for dinner."

"And why am I not surprised," TJ said. He didn't even look up from the cutting board.

"Hey, you know she wanted to be here."

"I know, but country and duty first as always." TJ glanced up, shared a look with his brother. "I'm just glad you're not falling into that trap."

"I wouldn't let him," Anne said.

"And good for you," Margaret added. "Someone's got to keep the younger generation of Hammonds from working too hard."

Steve rubbed his hands along his jeans. "So, um, anything I can do to help?"

"No, you're good," TJ said, with that sweet, full-lipped smile that made Steve feel like maybe he was the only person in the room. Which was a heady, dangerous thought, and one he absolutely should not be having in a room full of people. Especially a room full of TJ's relatives.

"C'mon, let's let them do their thing," Doug said, clapping Steve on the back. "How're you at grilling?"

"Uh, good, I guess?" Steve let himself be maneuvered out of the room and down the hall to the outside patio.

Doug lifted the lid of the grill and the rich scent of cooked meat filled the air. "Man, I know I should feel guilty, but there's nothing like the smell of a steak on the grill."

Steve took another pull from his beer and nodded. "As Captain America, I think I have the right to absolve you of any guilt you might have over grilling meat. I was told it's an amendment to the Constitution now, if that helps." 

Doug's laughter was every bit as full-bodied and rich as his brother's. "You know, no one ever talked about how funny you were. Are. Sorry."

"It's alright. I come by my ninja smartass skills honestly."

"Ninja smartass. I need to remember that."

"It's something your brother said to me once. I pretty much just stole it."

"Sounds like him." Doug flipped the steaks. "Speaking of, I normally wouldn't do this, but, he's...if you're the reason why he looks so relaxed and healthy now, I owe you a lot more than dinner."

"Uh..." Steve picked at the label on his bottle. "I think that's all him. If anything, he's been helping me the last few months."

Doug set the tongs back on the serving tray and crossed his arms. His eyes, a light shade of green-gold, met Steve's. "You know, I've been in a shady crazy business my entire life. There's nothing like politics to turn even the most optimistic idealist into the worst sort of cynic. Everyone has an agenda, anyone'll backstab you to get ahead or to get funding or for votes. It's like being part of this crazy incestuous world filled with human vipers and scorpions, y'know?"

"A little bit," Steve said. What was Doug trying to get at with all this?

"And this is the world Tommy and I grew up in, with our parents trying to raise us to be moral people in this very amoral world. Which wasn't easy."

"Looks to me like they did an alright job."

" _That_ , see, that's just it." Doug jabbed a finger in Steve's direction. "I've known a lot of bullshitters and liars in my time and I can spot them a mile off. But you... God, you're every single thing they taught us in school about you."

Steve shifted from foot to foot. "I'm just a man like you, Doug. No more, no less."

"No, you're more than that. You're a _good_ man, and I haven't met too many of those," Doug said. "That you were willing to see past everything in TJ's past and say, screw it, I'm claiming him as my friend anyway...that takes serious balls for a guy in your position, and don't think he doesn't appreciate that. That I don't appreciate that."

"I think your brother is one of the strongest people I've ever met," Steve admitted, and it felt like his entire heart was in his eyes. He knew he was revealing far too much, but he thought maybe he could trust Doug with this.

Doug gave him a steady look, and in his small smile, Steve saw acceptance and solidarity. "Yeah, I can see why he likes you."

"It's mutual."

Anne slid the glass door open, and poked her head out. "Please tell me the steaks are ready. Your brother and grandmother are singing show tunes in the kitchen."

"Yeah," Doug chuckled, and reached for the tongs. "We'll be there in a minute."

***

"So, hey, thanks again for coming over." TJ punched the floor to his hotel room and gave Steve a slow smile as the elevator began its ascent. "I know my family can be a little...intense."

"I liked them." Steve smiled back, and tried not to think about how perfectly tousled TJ's hair was and how much he wanted to tousle it even further. "You guys seem really close."

"We are, they're just a lot for outsiders to handle. But I guess you're kinda used to that."

"Kind of. And, full disclosure, I may have to fight Tony for your grandmother's heart."

"She'd love that," TJ chuckled, as the doors dinged open. They set off down the hall. "Two good-looking men fighting over her, she'd be in heaven."

"I think you and Doug get your charm from her."

"From her and Dad, although Mom's got her moments." He stopped outside the door to his room and turned, his eyes softening. "I had a really nice time tonight."

"Me too." And maybe it was the beer he'd had with dinner or the excellent meal or the conversation with Doug earlier or the way TJ was looking at him, like he could _see_ right into Steve's soul, he didn't know. But, suddenly, Natasha's words came rushing back to him – _grab your happiness when and where you can_ – and he found himself leaning forward. 

TJ blinked, and his eyes widened, long-lashed and perfect. "Steve, what're you –?"

"Please don't hit me," Steve pleaded, and closed the small distance between them, covered TJ's lips with his own. The kiss – if such a fragile, light thing could be called by such a name – lasted only a few all-too-brief seconds before TJ pulled away, his back hitting the door with a muffled thump.

But it was the look on his face – shuttered, drawn, _scared_ – that had Steve inwardly cursing himself. "God, I am so...I've been reading this whole thing wrong, haven't I?"

TJ shook his head and turned, fumbling in his wallet for his room key. "I'm sorry, I just...I can't do this again." He was inside the door, slamming it shut, before Steve could even ask what he was talking about.

***


	24. Chapter 24

He'd fucked up. There were no two ways about it. He never should have tried anything. 

His fists hammered the punching bag, hard, then harder still. 

He'd known better. He _knew_ better. TJ hadn't shown a single sign that he was interested in anything beyond friendship – sure, there'd been the flirting, but that was harmless. Fun. Something to pass the time and make them both laugh and he knew that, he fucking _knew_ it, and he'd still let himself get all caught up in the moment. Allowed himself to want something he knew he'd never deserve.

Thump, thump, thump – each punch was rhythmic, forceful, measured. A fine sheen of sweat covered his arms and neck. He'd been down here over two hours, pushing himself to the limit, and it still wasn't enough to silence the voices in his head.

Two weeks since that night. Two weeks since he'd seen or heard from TJ. Steve had called and left a voicemail apologizing for his behavior. He'd texted and done the same. But he hadn't heard a word in response, and he wasn't about to push it. He'd done enough damage. He'd lived through enough rejections in his life to recognize the signs.

This was no one's fault but his, and he'd shoulder it. 

The door to the basement opened and Thor strode in, wearing gym shorts and a tank top, his hair tied back. His wave was expansive and friendly and Steve heaved a sigh of relief. Finally, an actual distraction. And maybe some actual sparring would take his mind off of the kiss and the regret that kept nibbling away at him, no matter how hard he tried to quell it.

"I hope you don't mind the intrusion," Thor sad. "I'd heard you were down here."

"Hey, Thor." Steve pushed himself away from the bag and picked up the jump rope. "You here to go a few rounds?"

Thor nodded, and then frowned slightly. "That had been my intention, yes, but you've the look of a man who needs to unburden himself."

"I'm fine," Steve said, between reps. He wasn't the first person who'd screwed up a friendship. There were far worse tragedies in the world.

"You don't look it," Thor argued, with another frown.

Steve stopped, and met Thor's gaze. "All right, maybe I'm not completely squared away, but I will be."

"How can I help?"

"Honestly? You know what would help?" He tossed the rope aside and rolled his neck. It didn't do anything to relax tense muscles. His hands itched with the need to start punching the bag again. "An hour or two going a few rounds in the ring would be really fucking great. Or an actual mission, that would be nice. Or if you could get Bucky to maybe remember he's got a best friend ready and willing to _help_ him in any way he needs, that might work. Or just give me something to do. Let me _do_ something rather than sitting on my ass acting like –" 

He blew out an impatient breath. Forced his shoulders down. "I'm sorry, I'm just..."

"Upset?" Thor guessed, with a very patient, knowing look. "I know your frustration well, my friend, and I wish I could offer you aid. But these feelings of displacement and inertia and helplessness, they will fade in time. You won't always feel at loose ends."

"I've tried being patient. It's not..." Steve rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm not very good at it. I'm beginning to think maybe I just wasn't cut out for this life."

This time, Thor's smile was full and wide. "And you think I was any better? I spent centuries honing my impatience and callowness to an art form. I made more mistakes than I can count comfortably in a lifetime. Changing one's nature isn't an easy task. These things take time."

"You're not the first person to tell me that." Steve swallowed, took another breath. "And I am glad to see you. I'd hate to think I've pushed away all my friends these last few weeks."

Thor stepped forward and clasped his shoulder. "You're a good man and a fine friend, Steven. But you're also human. You must go easier on yourself."

"You're right," Steve nodded, with a rueful smile. "So, uh, hey, you still wanna...?"

Thor dropped his hand and grinned. "If, what's the phrase you use – getting your ass kicked – would help you feel better, I'm happy to oblige."

"You're on." 

Maybe he didn't have TJ around and maybe he had screwed that up, but he still had friends that understood him.

***

"Cap!! Captain!!! Yo, Captain Rogers, wait up!!!"

A persistent fan, just what he needed to make his day complete. Reluctantly, Steve paused and turned. Tanja was jogging towards him, her hair streaked with electric blue and green. The colors matched her shirt almost perfectly. 

"Oh hey, I didn't realize it was you," he offered in apology, when she stopped in front of him. "I thought it was a...well, you know."

"I thought by law you were supposed to stop for all of your fans and be the model of politeness or humbleness or whatever."

"I've never been much good at following the rules." Around them on the sidewalk, the lunchtime crowd rushed by. "So, what can I do for you?"

"One, no, two, things." She jabbed a finger at his chest. Her nails, he noted, were neon yellow. "One, we haven't seen you at the store in awhile. I've got a pile of Wire and Agnostic Front records on hold for you. Oh, and I snuck in a copy of _So This Is Freedom?_ by The Unseen in there, even though they're technically a modern punk band and you might not be ready for them yet. I still think you'll like it."

"Oh, well. That was...thank you." He hoped his smile wasn't as strained as it felt. He didn't want her to think he wasn't genuinely grateful, because he was, but he was poor company these days. There was a good reason he hadn't stopped by for his usual visits. "I'll come by and get them this week."

"Sweet." She gave him a smiling thumbs up. "And the other thing was, I'm not sure who you talked to or what you did, but seriously, you're a miracle worker."

Steve blinked. "I am?"

"Yeeeeeeees." She drew out the word all slow. "What you or your people or whoever the hell it was have done for Marty...it's amazing. You wouldn't believe how good he looks now. I mean, he's not, like, 100% or anything, but he's cleaned up and getting help and he even mentioned he's got a place to stay."

Marty...it took him a moment to place the name. Then he remembered the day he and TJ had met his friend from Common Ground to tour one of the buildings and had gotten Marty into the Veterans' program. Had that only been two months ago? Steve had meant to go by and check to see how everything was going with his own eyes and maybe to volunteer his services at Common Ground if his presence wouldn't be too disruptive or counter-productive, but...well. He'd been remiss in more than one area.

"I'm glad to hear he's doing better," he finally said.

"You made a real difference, Cap. You should be proud."

"Thanks." Somehow, hearing it didn't feel nearly as fulfilling knowing that he couldn't share the news with TJ. 

"Oh, and I talked to my art teacher for you, and she's totally cool with you sitting in on the class," Tanja continued. "You gotta buy your own supplies and brushes and such, but she said she'd provide the canvasses. I mean, if that's something you still wanted to do. And since you _did_ promise me..."

"No, yeah, that's great." He'd forgotten that they'd talked about that, too. "Tell her thank you. And, um, email me the details and all that. I'll be there."

Screw it, he was done wallowing. He may not have much of a life, but it had to beat sitting around feeling sorry for himself. He'd just have to start over – something he was pretty good at it.

***


	25. Chapter 25

Central Park was stunning no matter what time of year, but there was something about the way it looked in late summer that spoke to Steve on a purely visceral level. Sure, fall was gorgeous when the leaves were changing and there was a certain charm to it when the first snow fell, but the abundance of colors and greenery and sheer _life_ that abounded in the summer always appealed to Steve more than any other time.

Normally, he brought his sketchpad and parked himself on a bench somewhere, drew people or the skyline, tried to hone his skills. But today, he hustled along the paths to the south entrance by the pond. He hated to keep a lady waiting, especially when the lady in question was Margaret Barrish.

She was sitting on a bench right by Hallett's Conservatory, impeccably dressed in an ivory pantsuit, not a hair out of place despite the slight wind, and her eyes, blue and brilliant, were as warm as the smile on her face. "Steve, thank you for coming all this way to meet me."

"Like I could ever say no to one of my favorite ladies." He brushed a kiss to her cheek and kept the hug light, mindful of his strength. She still smelled like springtime, like the girls in Brooklyn before the War. "You look amazing as always."

"And you're still as charming as ever," she said, with a mild slap to his wrist. "You feel up to taking an old lady for a stroll around the lake?"

"No one as timeless as you could ever be old," he protested, and offered his arm, "and I'll take any time I get to spend with you."

"Shame you were under the ice by the time I was old enough to get married. But then you might've ruined me for other men if you'd been around, so I guess it's just as well."

"Well, I know for a fact you'd have ruined me for all other women, so I think we're even." They started towards the bridge, and Steve took a moment to savor both the brilliantly sunny day and the woman by his side. He wasn't sure he'd ever see her again, considering. "So, what, uh, what brings you to New York?"

"Oh, TJ and I have a standing appointment every two weeks at the Russian Tea Room for lunch," she said. "We started it about a year ago, I guess. Gives me a chance to take the train, check in on how he's doing, do a little shopping, take a few meetings if I feel like it."

"I didn't know that. I mean, it's great that you two find the time to get together and that you're keeping busy...and that came out all wrong. I _meant_ –"

She patted his hand, the touch paper-dry. "It's alright, don't give yourself a heart attack. Can you even get one?"

God, he'd missed her and her refreshing honesty. "Not that I know of, no."

"Lucky thing, it must be such a comfort knowing you'll never get sick again," she said, then continued, "I hope I didn't catch _you_ at a bad time."

"No, not really. I was...actually, I was on my way to a VA meeting when you called."

"Well, good for you," she said, with another smile. "Too many men our generation kept everything so bottled inside it's a wonder they all didn't explode. Are the meetings helping you at all, honey?"

He shrugged, squinted as he peered at the fluffy clouds overhead. "I thought maybe they were, but now I'm not so sure."

"Is this because of what happened with TJ?"

As perceptive as she was beautiful, which was saying something. But then, he expected nothing less from her. "I just wish I knew what I'd done wrong. I mean, I _know_ what I did and I know I shouldn't have..." He stopped, unsure of what to say or what she knew. "I just want to make it right."

"Because he looks like your dead best friend or...?"

Man oh man, he hadn't even thought about that in forever. They were such different people that their similar looks had ceased to matter months ago. 

"Honestly, I stopped seeing Bucky when I looked at TJ about five minutes into that first meeting with him," he told her. "I've always liked TJ for TJ. He's...honest and he's fun and he laughs at all of my jokes, even the terrible ones..." He trailed off. He didn't know how to really explain it. "I like who I am when I'm with him."

She nodded slowly, a thoughtful look on her face. "My grandson's been through a lot, Steve, and whatever it is he's told you, that's not even the half of it. If you're just looking to get square with him because you're trying to recapture your glory years with someone who looks like Bucky Barnes, then he's better off without you." Those perceptive blue eyes found his and pinned him in place. "But I've seen the way he looks at you, and I've seen the way you look at him, and I don't think that's what this is for you."

"It's not." He stopped, gave her his full attention and his complete honesty. "I really like him and I want...I really want...I want _him_. However he'll have me, if it's just as a friend or more…I mean, I'd _like_ it to be more, but that's up to him, and I'm just going to shut up now before I embarrass myself even more than I already have."

The tightness in his chest eased at her deep-throated laugh. "I can see why he likes you so much," she said, and patted his cheek. "I mean, beyond the obvious built-and-blond thing you've got going for you."

"Um, thanks?"

"And if you want any sort of future with my grandson, you're going to have to work for it. He won't make it easy for you. TJ's been hurt too many times and let down too many times by too many people in his life."

Including himself, Steve thought. Which was the last thing he'd ever wanted to do. "Please tell me how to make this right."

Her reply was no-nonsense. "Fight for him. Don't give up so easily. If you think he's worth it, then go after him."

"I can do that," he promised. At this point, he would promise anything if it meant being able to _do_ something. He'd been at the mercy of his own fears and inertia for far too long.

Time to get back in the game.

***


	26. Chapter 26

Steve barely heard a word during the VA meeting. He was too busy going over his earlier conversation with Margaret, trying to settle on a strategy with TJ. He couldn't afford to say the wrong thing, not with so much at stake.

He was the first person to get to his feet after the meeting, mind already on heading home, getting in a shower before going to TJ's club and trying to talk to him, when Rita stopped him.

"Captain, if I could have a word...?"

He stopped, turned back to her, waited with barely concealed impatience until she'd said her goodbyes to the rest of the group and they were alone in the room. "Ma'am? What can I do for you?"

Maybe she wanted an autograph for her kid or wanted to ask about Sam or –

"I think that's the question, isn't it," she said, interrupting his thoughts.

"I'm sorry?"

She leaned comfortably against the back of one of the chairs and gestured at him. "You've been coming here for a few months now."

He really didn't have time for whatever she was trying to do. "Was there a question there or...?"

"Do you feel like you're getting anything out of them?" she asked. 

His face cleared. "Oh yeah. I mean, everyone's been so honest and hearing their stories, it's...yeah, it's helped."

"Has it?" She studied him out of cool brown eyes. "Because I've noticed that you still haven't opened up and shared anything with the group."

"I didn't think I had to."

"You don't have to, no," she said, "but you might feel a little better if you do."

Feel a little better. What would _feel_ better would be his friends backing off and not constantly asking him how he was. What would _feel_ better would be having a purpose again, a reason to get out of bed in the morning. 

He clenched his hands into fists, tried to keep his voice even. "If Sam put you up to this, you can tell him I'm fine."

"This has nothing to do with Sam. This is just a simple reminder from your group leader that you're in a safe place. And if you wanted to open up –"

"I'm sorry," he said, as politely as he could. "But I really do need to get going. I'll think about what you said, alright?"

"You do that." He could tell she didn't believe him, but she didn't say anything else as he headed out the door. 

He was _fine_. Not everyone was cut out for opening up their wounds and bleeding them out for the world to see. And he had more important things to worry about anyway, like trying to figure out what to say to TJ, and how he was going to make things right. Hopefully Rita would let the matter drop. 

But if she didn't, well, he'd cross that bridge and the possibility of Sam's disappointment when he got there.

***


	27. Chapter 27

He shouldn't be this nervous. Hell, he hadn't been this nervous on his actual first date when he was seventeen. (Technically a double date with Bucky and his girlfriend at the time, but it counted. Even if it had ended – like most of his dates had ended back then – with him alone at the end of it.) But that feeling was nothing compared to the way his stomach was currently knotting up and the way his chest felt way too tight. He wasn't a coward, he'd never backed down from a fight in his life, but it took every ounce of courage he possessed to take steps down to TJ's club and walk in the door. 

The song, something slow and bluesy and achingly raw, caught his attention first. His gaze was immediately drawn to the stage, and he wasn't surprised at all to see it was TJ at the piano accompanying the jazz trio. Hair tousled and somehow still perfect, that leanly muscular body showcased in a tight white t-shirt and worn black jeans, with those long, graceful fingers coaxing sultry, liquid notes from the keys. His beautifully expressive face was peaceful and open as he lost himself to the music the way he always did. 

Steve knew he was staring, and was grateful for both the dim lighting and the fact that he was at the back of the room. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself. For a moment, he wished he was still skinny and short again, that he could blend into the shadows and not be noticed by anyone. 

He could go toe to toe with gods and megalomaniacs hell-bent on world destruction. He could and had taken down entire garrisons of soldiers all on his own with no backup. He had extensive training in fourteen kinds of martial arts, could fire any weapon anyone handed him, and knew how to speak seven – no, eight – languages pretty fluently. 

But he had zero training for this sort of mission. And not the first clue where to begin.

The applause drew him out of his thoughts, and he clapped along with everyone else. TJ took a small bow and announced the next band before bounding off the stage. Steve watched as TJ made his usual rounds, going from table to table with a smile and a few words and a sincere thanks for coming in. He worked the room like a consummate professional, every bit the showman his father was, and he looked so relaxed and in his element and _content_ that Steve started to wonder why he was even here. Maybe Margaret had misread the situation or was humoring Steve for her own reasons. Maybe Steve just wanted so badly for TJ to have missed him the same way he'd missed TJ that he was grasping at straws.

Then TJ's gaze scanned his area and locked on him. The room – the clatter of silverware, the murmur of guests, the light, upbeat number the band had just started playing – fell completely away. All Steve saw was TJ walking towards him, a strained, small smile on his face.

"Steve Rogers." Full lips quirked into another smile, just as fake. "It's been awhile since you've graced my humble club with your august presence."

"I, uh, I wasn't..." He swiped clammy hands along his jeans and prayed like hell his voice wouldn't crack. "I wasn't sure you wanted me around."

"Who wouldn't want Captain America in their establishment?"

"TJ..." This wasn't right. This reserve, this tension, it wasn't _them_. "Please, I just wanted to... Is there somewhere we could go to talk? I promise, I won't keep you long."

TJ was so still that Steve wasn't sure he'd been heard. Then TJ let out a long sigh and shook his head. "God, I swear, I'm still the biggest sucker on the planet. Yeah, come on, we can go to the smoking room. No one'll disturb us there."

TJ turned on his heel and Steve followed, careful to keep some space between them. He didn't want TJ to feel crowded in any way. TJ stopped by the bar to let Claire know he'd be a few minutes, then motioned Steve down the hallway and into the other room. It didn't look like much work had been done on it since the last time Steve was there. Maybe TJ had been busy or maybe he'd just changed his mind about the renovation.

"So," TJ said, and flicked his tongue over his lower lip. The distance between them loomed as large as a canyon. "You wanted to talk."

"I did," Steve agreed, and resisted the urge to run his hands over his jeans again. This was on him. He would be the one to make it right. "I guess, uh, well, first of all, I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable that night and I don't – I mean, I'm not expecting you to forgive me right away or anything, but, uh –" Christ, he really _was_ bad at this " – I mean, you don't look at me that way or feel that way about me and that's fine, I mean, I get it, but I at least thought we were friends. I'd like to find a way to get back to that. If you wanted."

That maybe could have gone...better. But he thought he at least hit the high notes.

"If I wanted," TJ repeated, his eyes a cool blue that reflected his stance. Steve couldn't get a handle on him at all.

"Yeah, if you wanted. I know I screwed up, and, uh, like I said, I know you're not interested in me like that, and I'm sorry about the kiss, but –"

TJ let out a small, ugly laugh that froze Steve's fumbling apology in mid-word. " _Jesus_ , Steve, are you kidding me right now? You think I don't... You've got this whole thing all wrong."

Maybe he was capable of having a heart attack after all. Because it sure as hell felt like he was having one right now. "So tell me. _Talk_ to me. Tell me what you need me to do here."

"I like you, alright, and not just as a ..." TJ sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "I _really_ like you, but I can't be... I've worked too hard the last few years – on my sobriety, on my self-esteem, hell, on my life – to go back to being another straight guy's gateway fuck or 'exception to the rule' or whatever it is you want this to be or whatever it is you want from me. I can't do it again. Not even for you. _Especially_ not for you."

Another straight guy's gateway fuck. It didn't take long for Steve to get the picture, and when he did, it was all he could do to rein in his temper. "Is that what you think this is for me? Why I kissed you that night?"

"Wasn't it?" TJ crossed his arms over his chest, jutted his chin out like he was daring Steve to take a swing. "Believe me, you wouldn't be the first guy who's used me as an experiment or to punch their homo v-card. I mean, I gotta hand it to you, you were real smooth about it, and maybe before I got cleaned up, I'd have – hell, I _definitely_ would have blown you that first night at the party – but now... It's not my scene anymore. You'll have to find someone else to take your gay cherry."

It took Steve a second to find his voice over the blood roaring in his ears. Every word was a precise, quiet clip. "You know, despite what the press loves to say about me, I am _not_ actually the world's oldest virgin." 

"I know that." Then TJ's eyes narrowed slightly. "You sound...pissed off."

"You're goddamned right I am," Steve bit out, nails digging deep grooves into his palms to keep from hitting the wall. "I get that you're protecting yourself and I am really sorry that you've been used by people in your past, but I don't need you to punch any cards for me and you're sure as hell not a gateway fuck or an exception to any rule or anything else you're thinking right now."

"I..." TJ's shoulders dropped and he lost the defensive stance. He seemed to visibly deflate right before Steve's eyes. "I don't _know_ what I think right now, okay. I thought I knew you, but then, well, the kiss happened, and...it just seemed like..."

"Let me help you out. You're not the first man I've been with or wanted to be with. And maybe that's not something they taught in your history books, but if you need names or –"

"You don't owe me – _fuck_." TJ closed his eyes like it was paining him to keep them open. "This isn't about you proving your gay or bisexual street cred with me."

"What is this about, then?" He took a chance, took a few steps forward. The anger that had sustained him the last few minutes bled out, and was replaced by a deep desire to make things _right_. "Just help me on what to say here, because I'm not very good at this."

TJ sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, cupped the back of his neck, and his look...Steve still couldn't figure out what it meant. "I guess I'm not very good at this either."

"You could try telling me what you need from me. If you need me to tell you again that I wasn't looking to score a cheap fuck –"

"No, I get it. I shouldn't have panicked –"

"Don't apologize, okay, I don't want –" Not for the first time, Steve wished he had Bucky's smooth way with words. Hell, even some of Sam's easy charm and calm would be nice right about now. "I just...I've missed you and if you stopped talking to me because I kissed you, I promise, I'll keep my hands to myself –"

"That's not..." TJ swallowed. His hands dropped to his sides. "I don't want you to keep your hands to yourself. You have _no_ idea how badly I wanted to kiss you back that night," he said, his voice low and rough and achingly raw. "All I wanted was to pull you into my room and strip you down and lay you on my bed and fuck you until we were both incoherent and exhausted and then do everything all over again –"

"I wanted that, too. I still want it. _Everything_ you just said." Steve closed the remaining distance between them, risked sliding his hand over TJ's. Felt the warmth and promise and God, he couldn't screw this up. Not when he was so close. "You're _not_ some itch or some notch in a bedpost," he said, hoping like hell TJ could hear how much he meant every word. "Not for me. We'll go as slow as you want, set whatever pace you want. Whatever happens next or doesn't is up to you. But I want this. I want _you_. Don't doubt that."

TJ shuddered, but he didn't back away and he kept his hand right where it was. "I wish I could trust this. I am _terrible_ at making decisions, Steve. My track record is...well, it sucks. Fucking up and fucking people over...it's wired into my DNA." When he looked up, Steve could see how much it was costing TJ to stay where he was. "I'm a Hammond, it's what we're good at."

"I don't care about your track record or your past or your last name." He traced the freckles on TJ's cheeks with his eyes, kept his voice low, as soothing as he could make it. "I just want you to know that this is your show, and I'm happy to follow your lead."

"Okay. Thank you for that." TJ took another slow breath, but his smile this time didn't look forced. "I, uh, I have to get back to the bar..."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." Reluctantly, Steve stepped back, put his hands back to his sides. TJ had a club to run and Steve respected that, even though he still felt like he was on precarious ground. "I'm, uh...my number's still the same if you wanted to, I mean, whenever or if ever..."

"I could meet you for breakfast tomorrow. I think we need to continue this conversation, it's just...now's not a good time, y'know."

"Yeah, no, I get it." The band around his chest eased again. The ground underneath him steadied. "And yeah, that'd be great. Although, um, I could...you could come over to my place, if you wanted. I promise to keep my hands to myself, Cap's honor," he promised. "But maybe we could talk more freely if we were in private."

"Yeah, that's, uh, that's actually a good idea." TJ smiled at him, quick and easy and achingly familiar. "But since I know you can't cook, how about I bring bagels from The Bagel Hole? Say, 10ish?"

"Okay, yeah. Perfect."

TJ took another step back. "You, uh, you gonna stick around for the next set or...?"

"Oh, no, I should...I should get going. Apparently I have to get ready for company tomorrow morning."

TJ laughed, the sound fond and amused and so missed that Steve's heart ached all over again. "God, don't go through any trouble on my account. But yeah, I'll see you tomorrow, alright. We'll talk. I mean, really talk."

"Can't wait," Steve said, and followed TJ back into the main room. They said goodbye (and it was only slightly awkward this time) and Steve headed back to his place, feeling considerably lighter than he had when he'd walked in. 

***


	28. Chapter 28

Floor vacuumed and mopped, check. Bookcases and photos dusted, check. Bathroom and kitchen scrubbed down, check. Coffee was on, milk and creamer both in the fridge, the container of sugar was on the counter, everything looked good. Not that there had been much of a mess in the first place – he still didn't have that much in the way of belongings – but what he did have was spick and span and ready for company.

Almost on cue, the doorbell rang. Steve forced himself to take measured steps to answer it. But if he couldn't quite quell the flutter in his chest at seeing TJ leaning against the doorjamb, wearing a Nationals ballcap and a bright blue hoodie and jeans, and giving him one of those patented, deep-grooved smiles, he didn't think anyone would blame him.

TJ held up a paper bag. "I hope you're hungry, man, because I got, like, two dozen and enough cream cheese for an army."

Steve held the door open. "I think I could do some damage to them. Come on in."

TJ stepped inside and made a show of looking around the living room. "So this is how the greatest soldier on earth lives. I guess I should have expected spotless."

"Yeah, that's not...I mean, I'm not...I might have spent the last four hours cleaning the place?"

"You've been up since 6am cleaning?"

"I don't sleep much." He didn't mention that he'd gone on a ten mile run before he'd started cleaning. "So, uh, I've got coffee and juice and water..."

"Coffee, and if you've got any half and half..."

"Yeah, you bet. Um, have a seat." Steve gestured at the table in the small dining room alcove. "I'll, um..."

"Steve." He stopped at the hand on his arm, looked into a concerned gaze. "It's just me, alright," TJ said quietly. "Take a deep breath and relax before I start to get nervous and if that happens, this will only end in disaster, I promise."

"Okay." Oddly, the blue of TJ's hoodie brought out the green in his eyes. And seeing it for some reason helped quell the butterflies taking residence in his stomach. "I'm glad you came."

"Me too. I've missed you these last few weeks."

"I've missed you too."

When he came back from the kitchen with two mugs and the container of creamer, TJ was already smothering a wheat bagel with a very generous portion of cream cheese. "Sorry, I'm starving..."

'It's fine." Steve set everything on the table and took the seat across from TJ. "You got any pumpernickel or cinnamon raisin in there?"

"Both," TJ said, and handed him the bag.

Steve hummed a small noise of approval at the first bite. They were honestly the best bagels he'd eaten since he'd first woken up. Perfectly crispy on the outside and chewy in the center, tasted like the ones he and Buck used to get from the Jewish bakery just up the block from their building. It was nice to know some things hadn't changed. 

"So, tell me how you've been," he asked, after he'd polished off two bagels and was smearing cream cheese on a third. 

"Busy," TJ shrugged. "Between the club and helping Dougie start to gear up for Mom's campaign, it's been a crazy few weeks."

"I thought you were out of politics."

"Yeah, you're a funny guy, alright." TJ took a sip of his coffee. "As long as my last name is Hammond, I will always be in politics."

"Do you want to be? Isn't that why you moved to New York? To get away from that life?"

"No, I moved to New York to get away from my drug dealing friends and my drug _taking_ friends and from all of the guys I'd either fucked or fucked over," TJ said. "There was no way I would have stayed clean if I'd stayed in D.C."

There was still so much about TJ's past he didn't know. Still so much he had to learn. "Well, whatever reason you're here, I'm glad of it. I might not have ever met you otherwise."

TJ swiped his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair. His look was sheepish, almost apologetic. "I'm here, okay. You don't have to keep staring at me like that or keep complimenting me."

"Maybe I want to," Steve replied. "If it makes you uncomfortable, I'll stop, but I don't want any misunderstandings here. It's taking just about everything in me not to lean across the table and kiss you right now."

"Oh man..."

"If that's not something you still want..."

"Okay, stop." TJ huffed out a breath. His fingers were almost white around his coffee cup. "Let's just lay all our cards out right now."

Steve nodded. "Okay."

"I want to crawl across the table and into your lap and not let you up for air for about a year. This isn't about what I _want_. I want so many things that I should never have. The entire time we weren't...around each other, I guess...I went to so many NA meetings I felt like I should just bunk down in the room, and I talked with my sponsor so much she's probably sick of me by now. I worked myself to the bone to keep from reaching for my phone, because I knew I couldn't call you and if I couldn't do that, then I'd call the first dealer I could find to score me some coke and if I did _that_ , then I'd be heading right back down that same rabbit hole and I wouldn't be able to crawl my way out of it this time."

Steve's heart threatened to break all over again. "TJ, I never meant..."

"I know you didn't. This is on me, not you," TJ said. "I didn't call anyone and I didn't start using, but it took a lot not to. I probably gained about ten pounds from cooking so much to keep myself busy –"

"You look pretty good to me." And he did. Hell, he looked amazing. But then, Steve was probably biased.

"God, you are..." TJ let out a small laugh. "You just _are_."

"I was pretty lost without you, too," Steve admitted. "If that makes you feel any better."

"A little bit." TJ smiled, then grew serious. "But before we start anything, we need to get a few things cleared up."

"Your pace," Steve reminded him. "However fast or slow you want, whatever you want."

"I don't know what I want," TJ said, with a small, sardonic twist of his lips. "Actually, I _do_ know what I want, but I'm not sure how much I can trust it. I mean, I know the only reason you started talking to me in the first place is because I reminded you of –"

Steve didn't even try to stop the wince. Maybe he should have seen this coming. "I can promise you right now that Bucky had _nothing_ to do with why I started talking to you that night," he said. "Or why I wanted to be your friend. Or why I want something more with you now. Me and Buck were never...I _never_ felt like this about him. He's my brother, or as close to one as I ever got."

"There were a lot of rumors about the two of you. Articles, books, movies, some really bad porn... God, I just admitted to watching Captain America gay porn." 

"Why would you waste your time with bad porn?" Steve asked, then let out a groan. "Sorry, that's, uh, not what I meant to say."

"Every single time," TJ lamented, but he smiled as he said it. "And yeah, of course there's good Captain America porn out there. I mean, if that's the sort of thing you're interested in watching."

"Not really, no. Although now I'm surprised that Tony never tried to get me to watch any."

"Tony's a dick sometimes, but not even he's that big of a dick," TJ said. "So, no secret unrequited crush or tragic love story?"

"Oh, I've got plenty of those." He'd mourn what he and Peggy could have had until the end of his days, and she was just the start of it. "Just not where Bucky's concerned."

TJ shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Most of my conquests are public knowledge. Fuck, I can't even _remember_ the names of a lot of them."

"I don't care how many people you slept with, TJ."

"That's good, because for a long time, I didn't either."

"Whenever you're ready to share that part of yourself with me, I'll be here. But that's up to you. Even if you never do, that's fine, too. I know what it's like to...be cautious."

"I'm still battling so many demons, Steve. My therapist and my sponsor both say I always will." TJ's voice was quiet, but clear. "But it gets a little easier every day. Took me awhile to see that trying to drown them with drugs and sex wasn't working."

Steve held himself still, even though he wanted nothing more than to reach over and give TJ the biggest hug on the planet. "We don't have to talk about this."

"No, we don't, but I want to. You said you wanted to know all of me. And this is a big part of it. I'm an addict and just because I'm clean now doesn't mean that it all goes away."

"I know it doesn't. I've, um...I've done some reading on the subject. And asking around. I mean, not about you specifically, I'd never invade your privacy –"

"It's okay, I get it. And that means a lot that you're willing to educate yourself. But you need to know – God, there's so much you need to know. Most of it's not pretty." 

Steve set his cup down, held out his hand. And prayed he wasn't getting ready to make another mistake. "All of us have demons inside of us. Myself included."

TJ stared at Steve's palm for a moment. Steve held his breath. Then let it out in a slow exhale when TJ placed his own hand over Steve's. "I'm not an easy person to be around sometimes."

Steve rubbed his thumb along TJ's wrist, felt the rapid beat of his pulse. "Neither am I. I can plan a fully executable attack on any terrain under any conditions and can take down entire regiments pretty much by myself, and I'm fully versed with numerous tactics and weapons, but people? God... Part of me is always gonna be skinny Steve Rogers who was mostly invisible to everyone I ever liked and who has no idea about how to do _any_ of this."

"Well, I hope you're not looking to me for advice. My most adult relationship was being a married man's piece of ass on the side."

"So we'll fumble along together. I'm okay with that," Steve said, and smiled when TJ squeezed his hand. "Let me take you out."

"Like, on a date?"

" _Yeah_ , like on a date."

TJ frowned in confusion. "Haven't we been on a million of them by now?"

"Yeah, but not when we've been aware of it."

"You know, I think you're starting to rub off on me, because that actually made sense."

"Is that a yes?" He really really hoped it was a yes. "I understand if you're not ready, and that's fine, but I'd like to."

"I swear, those dimples of yours should come with a warning," TJ said, with an indulgent look that Steve knew all-too well. "I've got a better idea. Let me cook you dinner my next Tuesday off, and we'll...I don't know, figure out the parameters of everything."

"Okay." Right now, Steve thought he'd promise TJ the moon if he kept getting that look. "But I still want to take you out sometime. Whenever you're ready."

"God, you are such a sap, what am I getting myself into," TJ complained, but Steve caught the smile. 

"I want to earn this. You. Whatever this is, whatever we decide it is...I don't want there to be any doubts about what I want."

TJ squeezed his hand again, then pulled it slowly away, and picked up his coffee mug. "I swear, you killed a nun or you and Bucky ran an underage brothel back in the day or you drown kittens in your spare time for fun or something, right? I mean, no one's this perfect."

"You, of all people, know better." He was far from anyone's idea of perfect.

"You are a pretty terrible piano player," TJ agreed, with one of his wide, open grins. 

"I have a terrible teacher."

"Yeah, you do. I did warn you about that."

"What can I say, I'm also terrible at listening to advice," Steve said, and stood just to put a little bit of distance between them. They weren't ready for what he wanted. Not yet. "You, uh, can I get you a refill?"

"Sure." TJ pushed his mug across the table. "I'll try to save you a poppyseed, too, but no promises."

"It's alright. I'll just keep the coffee if you do eat them all," Steve said, and winked. He felt pretty proud of himself for getting in the last word as he headed back into the kitchen, TJ's surprised laughter following in his wake.

***


	29. Chapter 29

Contrary to popular belief, Steve did not, in fact, have a hot line to the President or to the White House. In fact, the only time he'd even _met_ President Ellis or stepped foot on the White House grounds, it was when he'd been presented with his Congressional Medal of Honor for taking down Schmidt's plane. But still, when the invite came to his door to have breakfast with the Vice President at her home, he couldn't exactly say he was surprised to get it.

He took the first train out of Penn Station to D.C., and spent a good portion of the ride patiently answering a series of questions about what it was like to be Captain America from the very excited kid sitting next to him – 

"Do you still have to eat all your vegetables?" 

"Yep, sure do." 

"What about homework? Do you still hafta do that?" 

"Sometimes, but adults call it planning instead of homework." 

"Can you beat up the Hulk?" 

"Uh, no, and I hope I never have to try." 

"Can Thor?" 

"I guess he could, but I hope they're never on opposite sides." 

"Could Black Widow beat up Iron Man?" 

"Maybe not when he's got the suit on, but she could definitely outsmart him." 

"Cool."

"Yes, she is."

"Can you come to my school for career day? We're supposedta ask our folks, but Mom's an accountant and Dad's in real estate."

"Cameron, I'm sure Captain Rogers –"

"I'd be honored. Just tell me when and where."

– and took a cab over to the Naval Observatory and the Vice Presidential residence. He hadn't been exactly sure as to what to wear, so he settled on his service uniform and hoped it was sufficient.

Elaine Barrish was just as regal and imposing as she was the last time Steve had met her, but now Steve could easily spot the similarities between her and her sons. They both got their bearing from her, and TJ had definitely inherited the laugh lines around her mouth and her smile. Steve would love to get her to sit for him one day. He had a feeling capturing her poise on paper would be a nice challenge.

She greeted him wearing a linen pantsuit the same shade of red as her lipstick, and heels that put her at almost eye level. The result was striking and subtly sexy, reminded Steve of Margaret. (Subtle and sexy, apparently, ran all through the family.) "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Captain."

He touched his lips to the back of her hand. "It's my pleasure, Madam Vice President."

Her nose wrinkled delightfully when she smiled, made her look a good decade younger. "It is rather a mouthful, isn't it?"

"Maybe a little," he admitted, with his own smile. "But you've earned the title."

"You're damned right I have," she said, and the look reminded him so much of Peggy that his breath caught. He bet they would have made great friends if they'd ever met. In fact, they probably would have taken over the world. "Would you like some coffee or tea or...?"

"Coffee's fine."

He accepted the cup and saucer when she poured, then followed her into a brightly lit dining room, and took the seat across from her. They drank their coffee in silence for a few minutes, and Steve used the time to study the woman in front of him. She wore her power very well. He could see where she would be a formidable opponent to any political adversaries and an even more advantageous ally. He'd done some reading on her time as Secretary of State, and was impressed by both her drive and tenacity. 

But, at the same time, he could also see where TJ and Doug both would have struggled to find their own voices growing up at the foot of the large shadow both she and her husband had cast.

Finally, she put her cup down and folded her hands on the table. "I suppose I don't need to tell you why I wanted to meet with you."

"No ma'am, you don't," he said, and put his cup down as well, giving her the full weight of his attention.

"I didn't tell TJ," she said. "But I'm not asking you not to tell him we met."

Steve shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "If he asks, I'm not going to lie about it."

"No, I didn't think you would." Her assessing, piercing gaze never wavered. "He's my son."

"I understand that, ma'am."

"Which means his happiness is everything to me," she continued.

"I understand that as well," Steve replied. He felt a little like he was back in grade school with the nuns calling him in after class to scold him and Bucky for fighting on school grounds.

"And I would do anything within my power to ensure that happiness."

"Yes ma'am, and I definitely understand that."

"Do you?"

"Better than you think," he replied, and returned the look with one of his own. He wasn't sure what TJ had told her about where things stood with them, or if her mother had said something to her, but either way, he still owed her the truth. 

Elaine's eyes softened slightly. "Yes, I think that you do," she said. "And, not to mention, my mother adores you."

This time, the grin was quick and easy. "I adore Margaret right back. If you don't mind me saying so, she's one helluva woman."

"That she is," Elaine chuckled. "And my son? How do you feel about him?"

"With all due respect, ma'am, that's between me and him," Steve replied. "I like spending time with him. And, as far as I know, the feeling is mutual."

"Fair enough," she said, with a nod. "History's always painted you as an honorable man, and you've done nothing to dispel that image since you've woken up. I would ask, as both a mother and the Vice President, that you continue down that path."

He couldn't help the laugh. "That has to be the most polite shovel talk I've ever heard."

The laugh lines around her mouth deepened. "At least you're smart enough to realize what this is."

"I've been accused of many things in my life, but slow was never one of them."

"Good," she replied, and raised her hand. At the signal, a tall, uniformed man bustled into the room, bearing a full tray. "I hope you brought an appetite."

"Always," he smiled, and settled in to enjoy his breakfast.

***

There was no way he could come to D.C. without at least attempting to see Sam, so he headed over to the VA after he left Elaine's to see if he could catch Sam before heading to the station to catch his train. 

There was a meeting taking place when he showed up, so he hung around the back of the room, and listened in. It was a little like being at one of his own meetings – he heard a lot of the same stories and Sam gave a lot of the same level-headed, practical advice as Rita. 

After the meeting wrapped up, Sam waved him over with a big, welcoming grin. "Steve, man, how you doin'?"

Steve returned the hard, back-thumping hug with his own. "I'm good. It's good to see you."

Sam stepped back, eyed him up and down. "What brings you to D.C. all in uniform? You getting another medal or something?"

"Uh, no not today." And frankly, he didn't care about the ones he already had. "But I, uh, I did just have breakfast with the Vice President."

"Oh really?" Sam crossed his arms, all business. "Anything I should know about or need to suit up for?"

"No, it was...more of a mother meeting the potential boyfriend thing, I think."

"Ah, I see." Sam nodded, and grinned. "You finally manned up and asked TJ out?"

"Sort of. I mean, yes, I asked him out, but we're...taking things slow."

"You've already been taking things slower than a glacier in winter. How much slower can you get?"

A question he'd asked himself more than once. "You know, I've really missed you busting my balls."

"I know you have," Sam said, not remotely fazed. "So, what does slow mean?"

Steve cupped the back of his neck and shrugged. "It means...it means we're interested in each other, but we've both got things to work on and work out."

"Okay, that's good, though, right, that's progress," Sam said. "You still going to your meetings?" 

"Every week."

"You getting what you need out of them?"

"Yeah, maybe. You aimin' to be my shrink now?" Steve asked, only partially joking.

"You couldn't pay me enough," Sam stated, with a smile that said he wasn't really joking, either. "I'm just a concerned friend who wants to see you move on with your life."

"I'm trying." Steve sank onto one of the chairs. "It's a little easier some days, but well, some days..."

"Some days you still wanna be out there kicking ass with Bucky and taking names," Sam finished, taking the chair next to Steve.

"Yeah. I mean, don't get me wrong, I still think I can do a lot of good as a soldier, and I still think Buck could use my help with whatever it is he's doing out there, but...I'm okay. You don't have to worry about me."

For a second, Sam looked like he wanted to argue, but he nodded instead. "Okay, good. You have time for a drink before you head out or do you need a ride to the station...?"

"Both, if you're offering," Steve replied. 

"A ride, sure, but you're definitely buying the drinks," Sam said, with another grin. "And I expect to hear all about how things are going with your man."

"As soon as there's anything to report, I promise." 

***


	30. Chapter 30

Two days later, Steve headed into the club in his oldest pair of jeans and his most faded Dodgers t-shirt, determined to at least get the walls done in the smoking room. Now that he and TJ were back on friendly terms (for lack of anything else better to call it), he wanted to complete the job. 

When he walked in, TJ was behind the bar with a clipboard counting stock. He glanced up, and that warm, open smile Steve loved so much lit up his face. "Hey, you must be a mind reader. I was just getting ready to call you."

"That eager for free labor, huh?"

"Sort of, although I'm glad to have you back on the project," TJ said, setting the clipboard down and leaning his elbows on the bar. "I actually have something personal to ask you."

"I'm not allergic to anything. Well, not anymore," Steve amended, taking the seat on the other side and leaning in himself. They were close enough to touch, close enough Steve could kiss him without really moving, but he stayed right where he was. He'd promised TJ time and space and even if it meant he'd be taking a few more cold showers, he was determined to keep his word.

"It's not about dinner, although that's good to know." TJ fiddled with his pen, and blew out a short breath. "But, um, it's sort of about that."

"You're not cancelling, are you?"

"No, no, but...and I know we agreed on slow and I know we still have things to discuss, but I've got this thing I need to go to on Saturday night...and you don't have to go if you don't want to..."

Steve didn't mind admitting he had no idea where TJ was going with this. "Okay?"

"It's this highbrow charity event that the family supports and it's my turn to go this year and, well, I thought we could...but only if you wanted...go there. Together." TJ shrugged again, and gave him a hopeful look out of partially lowered lashes.

TJ nervous. It shouldn't be nearly as charming as it was. "If this is your way of asking me out on a date, it's terrible. I mean, you sound like me."

"Oh my God, you are the worst, I have no idea why I like you," TJ groaned.

"My sparkling wit?" Steve guessed. "The way I wear a pair of jeans?"

"Let's go with the second," TJ replied, with a mostly friendly glance at Steve's legs.

All the same, Steve still found himself flushing under the scrutiny. "I'd love to go with you, by the way. If that was you actually asking."

"Yes, that was me asking," TJ said, on a laugh. "Cut me some slack, I haven't asked anyone out on an actual date in years."

"Well, now you know how the rest of us feel."

"You're terrible," TJ replied, and Steve wanted to bask in the warmth of his look for the rest of the day.

"I'm assuming this thing is formal?"

"Yeah, tuxes or your dress uniform if you wanted...although I'm not sure the world is ready to see you in a tux just yet. You might give all the ladies heart failure."

"And what about you?"

"Yeah, me too," TJ admitted, with a heated, sly look. "You're getting better at this flirting thing. I guess you've been practicing."

Steve shook his head. "Nope, just waiting on you."

TJ's eyes softened. "I have no idea how you make that sound like the most romantic declaration on the planet," he said, and brushed his pinkie against Steve's. Just the barest of touches, but Steve found himself getting instantly, almost painfully, hard.

God help him if and when anything ever actually happened.

"So, um..." TJ cleared his throat. "There's something you need to know about one of the attendees. Representative Sean Reeves."

Desire gave way instantly to concern at the hesitancy in TJ's voice. "What about him?"

"You remember me telling you about being a married man's piece of ass on the side?" TJ's smile was strained around the edges. "That was him. And when the affair ended... Well, he chose his career over me. And I didn't exactly take it well."

Steve heard what TJ wasn't saying – that this hadn't been the first time someone close to him had chosen politics over him – as clearly as if he'd said the words out loud. "It must have been really hard for you."

"I'd wrapped so much of myself in this idea of what I could have with him... I put my sobriety entirely in his hands, and it wasn't..." TJ shook his head, composed himself. "It wasn't healthy, not even remotely, but I couldn't see it. So, when he ended it...well. Like, I said, it wasn't pretty."

Steve placed his hand over TJ's, laced their fingers together, and gently squeezed. "If you're telling me this hoping I'll kick his ass, I have to say, I'm tempted."

"God, no...although, I would almost pay good money to see that," TJ chuckled. "I don't need you to fight my battles for me. I just...he's supposed to be there and I didn't want you hearing anything or wondering anything..."

"Thank you for trusting me with this." He hoped TJ could tell how sincere he was. "But I honestly don't care who you've been with. I'm happy to hear any stories you choose to tell me, but all that really matters to me is right now."

"You just keep racking up the brownie points," TJ said, and held onto Steve's hand like he was afraid Steve would let go. Which was never happening. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." 

***


	31. Chapter 31

Jules was just taking the last halting step up to the landing when Steve hurriedly pulled his door shut behind him. 

"There's a limo waiting out on the curb. Guess I don't need to ask if it's for you seeing your get-up," Jules said, eyeing Steve's sharply pressed dress greens with a knowing smirk.

"Uh, yeah. I'm running a little late." But it still didn't stop Steve from taking Jules' shopping bag from him and walking with him towards his door.

"You know you don't have to keep carrying my groceries. Especially if you've got a lady waiting."

"Your subtlety needs help."

Jules just waved him off and unlocked the door. "I'm too old for subtlety. You gonna make me ask?"

"It's, uh..." Well, Jules was bound to find out sooner or later, and Steve would rather he heard the news from Steve himself. "It's TJ Hammond, actually."

"Hmmm. So that's the way of things." Jules shuffled his way into the kitchen and took a beer out of his refrigerator. "Set the damn bag on the counter before you drop it. I got eggs in there."

Belatedly, Steve realized he was still holding onto it. "Oh, right."

Jules took a long, noisy sip from the bottle. "So. You and the Hammond boy."

"Yeah, me and the Hammond boy."

Jules made another noncommittal noise and started to slowly unpack his grocery bag. "Always liked the family. His mom's got a brass set on her, always reminded me of my Millie."

Which pretty much described both Elaine and Margaret Barrish to a tee. "That she does."

"Well, good for you. Bring him around so I can meet him, alright," Jules said, and before Steve could even taking a shaking breath in relief, made a shooing motion Steve's way. "Now go on, get. TJ may not be a lady, but you don't keep a Hammond waiting, either."

"Thanks, Jules," Steve said, and hoped Jules knew what he meant by it.

"Go," Jules just said in response, and Steve grinned all the way down the stairs and to the limo. He ducked inside – and dropped heavily to his seat when he got a good look at TJ, who was sprawled across from him.

"Okay, I need a second." 

TJ on a normal day in his usual t-shirts and jeans was enough to make Steve's heart race. TJ in a perfectly tailored tux, with slicked back hair and discreet shirt studs that matched the brilliant blue-green of his eyes? Steve was suddenly very happy that the length of his jacket hid exactly how much he really liked what he saw.

"Yeah, me too," TJ replied in a hoarse voice. His look was hot enough to melt steel. "You're...making it difficult to, uh, remember why I wanted to go slow."

"Yeah, me too." It was uncomfortably hot. Steve wondered if he should open a window or maybe stick his head in the ice bucket. "Please make a bad joke or yell at me for being late or something."

TJ blinked, lazy-lidded and not really helping Steve's current state in the slightest. "Um...how was your day? Rescue any kittens from any trees or any citizens from any terrorist threats?"

"That's the best you can do? How was my day?"

"Cut me some slack, I can't exactly think right now," TJ complained, on a groan. "I mean, all of the blood in my brain's sort of settled in my crotch."

"Same here." Hell, just hearing TJ _say_ the word crotch was more erotic than a peep show.

"Okay, okay, let's just...take a breath." TJ inhaled, waited for Steve to follow suit, then slowly exhaled. "Again." They repeated the process a few times until TJ didn't look quite so flushed and Steve's erection somewhat died down. 

"There, that's a little better," TJ said. "You feeling better?"

"Yeah...I'm good. I think." Well, as good as he was going to get. "But I think maybe we should hold off on dancing together tonight. I'm not exactly sure I can trust myself if I get my hands on you."

"That's...sort of hot," TJ said, then took another deep breath. "But we're changing the subject." 

"Good idea." He could do this. He might actually die of blue balls by the end of the night, but he could do this. "And, uh, no, to answer your question. No kitten rescues or civilian rescues today. I guess the bad guys took the day off."

"That's good, right?"

"Yeah, it's great," Steve said. "I just hope they take the night off, too."

"That makes two of us," TJ said, taking a moment to straighten his jacket. "And thank you again for coming with me. It's for a good cause, but these events can get rather...stuffy."

"Shame your grandmother's not here to liven things up."

"Ha, yeah, she went last year." TJ grinned. "Managed to insult a delegate from Turkey and the host and the wife of a prominent Wall Street CEO all with the same joke. Which is why I drew the short straw this year."

"Remind me to ask what the joke was." 

"Oh, she's threatened to tell it again if Mom sends her out on the campaign trail this time around." 

"I guess this means you think she's going to make a run at the Presidency?"

"She's definitely running," TJ said, as the limo rolled to a stop outside the Mandarin Oriental. 

"Well, maybe I can pitch in instead and let your grandmother sit this one out."

"Oh, you don't have to...I mean, she'd never ask you to..."

"No, I know she wouldn't. But maybe I want to support her anyway," Steve said, following TJ out of the limo and towards the red carpet and the sea of flashing lights. "She's got a lot of great ideas."

"Far be it from me to argue with Captain America on who he wants to stump for," TJ joked, with that smile Steve loved so much. "So, I've got to walk the carpet for a minute, do the usual song and dance for the press. You can go in, though, I mean, you don't have to wait around for me."

"Why, are you ashamed to be seen in public with me?" Steve asked.

"What, no, of course not... You're joking, oh my God, I can't believe I just fell for that."

Steve grinned, and stepped in, used the time to straighten TJ's bowtie. "If you're worried about what the media will say or ask, don't be. I'm a big boy and if people can't appreciate that I can still be Captain America if I date men as well as women, then...well, frankly, that's their problem."

TJ's brows furrowed together. "So if someone asks me if you're my latest boytoy...?"

"Tell them we're still negotiating the details. Tell them yes. Tell them it's none of their business. But don't feel like you need to lie about it for my sake. All right?"

"All right," TJ replied, and he was so close, it would be _so_ easy to close the small distance between them... 

"TJ, is that you?"

Steve and TJ both turned at the voice. A tall, well-dressed, matinee-idol handsome blond stopped in front of them, extended a hand.

After a moment's hesitation, TJ took it in the world's shortest handshake. "Sean, what a pleasant surprise," he said, his voice polite and distant.

"Yeah, you too." Then Sean turned his gaze to Steve and his eyes widened. "Um, Captain Rogers, this is a surprise. Representative Sean Reeves from Ohio."

Steve followed with his own terse handshake. His skin was already crawling from the brief contact. "Nice to meet you," he lied, with a perfectly straight face. 

"I...I wasn't aware you and TJ were...friends."

Something about the way he hesitated – or maybe it was the way he looked at TJ – raised the hairs on the back of Steve's neck. "TJ and I know each other very well," he replied, in a cool, clipped tone.

"I see." Sean's eyes flickered between him and TJ. "Well, it was good to see you, TJ. I, um, my wife, she's expecting me inside."

"Be sure to give her my best," TJ said, and it was only when Sean was out of sight that the tension between TJ's shoulders eased. 

Steve waited a few beats for TJ to finish composing himself. And, if he was honest, to calm himself down. "So...that was Sean Reeves."

"Yeah, that's him," TJ confirmed, with a self-deprecating shrug. "The infamous married man."

"I guess you do have a type," Steve remarked drily.

TJ let out a surprised laugh and the last of the stress seemed to seep out of him. "Yeah, I guess I must. But you and Sean – other than being blond and built – you two are nothing alike."

"So, he was married when you two started...?"

"Oh yeah. Married with kids, even. Looking back on it, I knew I never stood a chance with him." TJ shrugged again and rocked back on his heels. "Imagine the scandal of a Republican congressman leaving his wife for, not just a man, but a Hammond."

"I'm not passing judgment," Steve said. "But if I was going to, I'd say he didn't deserve you."

"There is no way you're real."

"Why, because I think the guy's a dick for not seeing how amazing you are and that you deserved better than being his dirty secret?" Steve shook his head. "That doesn't make me a saint."

TJ cupped the back of his neck, and in his gaze, Steve could see how much it was costing him to stand still. "Maybe not, but it does make you the first guy I've ever been with who's told me that when we were still fully dressed."

Steve wanted nothing more than to pull TJ in for a hug. It took every ounce of self-control to keep his hands at his sides. "Get used to hearing it," he said, and watched the way TJ's eyes darkened when he licked his lips.

"We should, uh..." TJ gave himself a small shake and smiled, a little tremulous around the edges, but sincere. "I promise I'll just be a few minutes with the press."

"Take your time. I know how to stand in the background and look pretty."

TJ just laughed and headed towards the waiting cameras and reporters.

***


	32. Chapter 32

Steve wasn't sure what he was expecting on the carpet, but given TJ's pretty vocal ambivalence about his famous last name and the way he'd grown up, watching him amp up the charm when the cameras were turned his way was something of a revelation. He worked the line in a calm, professional manner, deflected questions he'd rather not answer with a wink and a grin, and somehow – miraculously – managed to keep anyone from asking Steve anything. He should win a medal for that alone. Maybe Steve could talk to Elaine about arranging one.

"You gotta tell me how you did that," Steve said, after they were wanded and waved into the glittering grand ballroom, already filled to the hilt with the crème de la crème of New York high society all dressed to the nines.

"Do what?" TJ asked, snagging two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and pressing one into Steve's hand. "Just so you know, I plan on having two of these tonight, so don't be too alarmed when I go for the second one."

"Two, got it." Steve nodded, grateful TJ was giving him the heads up. "And, uh, how did you keep me out of the spotlight. That never happens."

TJ grinned at him, quick and bright and as mischievous as a kid. "No offense, but I've seen some of your interviews, and you're boring. I'm sure you're boring on purpose because I know you _aren't_ really boring, but the press is never gonna waste time with a clichéd soundbyte when they have a Hammond willing to talk to them and give them juicy unscripted quotes."

"I feel like I should be insulted, but mostly I'm just relieved."

TJ knocked their shoulders together. "I promise to let you field the next red carpet, how's that."

"Sounds like a fair trade off, but a terrible idea," Steve said, and then they were stopped by some well-connected political friends of Elaine's, and TJ turned on the charm once again. Steve just held his flute of champagne like a lifeline and gave a succession of noncommittal replies to the ridiculously long line of people who seemed to know TJ or his family.

There was a reason Steve tended not to go to too many parties like this. He wasn't TJ or Tony Stark – men who'd grown up accustomed to the media scrutiny and popularity that came with great wealth and a well-known last name. He was just a poor Irish kid from Brooklyn Heights who'd lucked into a pretty fantastical ride. Not that he'd trade it on most days, but the disparity between his life and TJ's seemed to loom pretty large right about now.

"Penny," TJ murmured to him, during a lull in the conversation.

"Just thinking that I couldn't do what you do. You're a lot better at this than you give yourself credit for."

"Steve, I'm a fucking _god_ at this. I just hate doing it." TJ dropped his voice even further. His lips barely brushed Steve's ear. "To be honest, I'd rather be on the piano at the club playing you a few show tunes."

"Me too," Steve said, and wondered how soon they could get the hell out of dodge and go back to being them. 

"TJ, my boy, come and give your old man a hug!"

"Oh man," TJ groaned, and dropped his head to Steve's shoulder. " _Fuck_."

Steve glanced around him, saw a very familiar-looking, broad-shouldered, barrel-chested man heading their way. "You didn't mention your dad was going to be here," he said.

TJ lifted his head and sighed. "That's because I didn't know my dad was going to be here," he replied, then turned just in time to meet Bud Hammond's full-bodied, back-slapping hug. 

"Dad, what a pleasant surprise."

If Bud heard the slight sarcasm in his son's voice, he didn't mention it. "It's good to see you, son," he said, holding TJ at arm's length and looking him over like he was a sergeant inspecting his troops. "You look healthy, I like it. New York must be agreeing with you." 

Then he turned sharp blue eyes Steve's way, and held out a hand. "Captain Rogers, it is an honor to finally meet you."

Steve took the offered hand and returned the firm shake. "The honor is mine, Mr. President."

"Nonsense, just call me Bud," he said, waving off the honorific. "We're practically family from what I hear."

TJ groaned again. "Dad, seriously..."

"What, your mother and I are happy for you. Steve's a fine, upstanding young man."

"Oh God –"

Steve was sure his blush was now permanently inked to his skin. "Um..."

_Fine, upstanding young man..._ He wondered if Bud even remembered that he was technically old enough to be TJ's grandfather. Although, on second thought, that wasn't something he wanted to remember, either. He was still a young man. Mostly. He needed to remember that.

"I swear, I have no idea how we're related," TJ said, sighing what sounded like a very long-suffering sigh. "And I have no idea what Mom told you, but –"

Bud wagged a beefy finger between TJ and Steve. "So you two aren't...?"

"No, we are, it's just." TJ stopped, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can we please not discuss this in the middle of a party with half of the room listening to our every word?"

"Now you know you don't have anything to be ashamed of. Your mother and I worked very hard to make sure –"

"I'm not ashamed, alright," TJ interrupted, gentling his voice. "It's called discretion. Maybe you've heard of it."

"I promise, sir, we're not hiding anything and no one's ashamed of anyone," Steve said, not quite stepping between them, but angling himself so that they couldn't look around him, either. He dropped his fingers to brush against TJ's, and was relieved when TJ brushed back. "We're just...taking things slow."

Bud's eyes narrowed, but after a tense few seconds, he nodded. "Alright, I'll leave you two to decide the pace of everything. But if you break my boy's heart, Captain, you'll have to answer to me for it. And what I'll do to you will be a picnic compared to his mother."

"I'll do my very best not to, sir," Steve answered, and summoned his most reassuring smile. Now was probably _not_ the best time to mention that he and Elaine had already had The Talk, and that, out of the entire family, it was Margaret's wrath he feared most. 

"Honestly, it's like I'm 15 all over again," TJ said, shaking his head. "Dad, I swear, it's fine. You should be proud that I'm not rushing into anything."

Bud clasped TJ's shoulder, and his gaze softened. "TJ, my boy, there hasn't been a day you've been alive that I haven't been proud of you. I want you to remember that."

"I do," TJ answered in a thick voice. Steve wondered if he should give them a minute or two alone.

"Good." Then Bud grinned, and he slid his arm around TJ's shoulders. "Now, come on, and buy your old man a drink, tell me what you've been up to since the last time I saw you..."

***

"I like him," Steve stated, after Bud had been called away to catch up with some old friends.

"Everyone likes my dad," TJ said. "Hell, he could run right now and win in a landslide, despite everything he's done to screw his life up personally."

"I could see that." Steve nodded thoughtfully. "You can't teach charisma. You're a lot like him."

"Yeah, I know. Addictive personality, narcissistic tendencies, drama queen..." TJ ticked them off on his fingers like he was reciting a well-worn list.

"No, I meant the charisma," Steve corrected. "The way you carry a room. That smile of yours that could light the Eastern Seaboard. The way you listen to everyone like what they're saying is important even when it's not."

"I'm just me."

"Exactly," Steve said, and held out a hand. "Come dance with me. I know we said we probably shouldn't, but I want to."

TJ stilled beside him. "You know my dad'll see, right? Not to mention the room and the media and –"

"I don't care." Honestly, Steve got TJ's caution, but treading water really wasn't his style. "We're on a date, right, so let's act like we're on a date." He angled closer, snagged TJ's unresisting hand in his own. "I'm not Sean Reeves. I'm not scared of what we're doing or of being seen in public with you."

"God you are just..." TJ shook his head, but smiled that familiar, fond smile, and placed his hand more firmly in Steve's. "Alright, one dance, but you're leading this time."

Steve heard the murmurs around them the second they stepped on the dance floor together, but he ignored all of them. His full concentration was on TJ and how _right_ it felt to hold him like this as they swayed to the music.

"Reminds me of the night we first met," TJ commented, with an amused smirk. "Your dancing hasn't improved at all."

"Terrible at dancing and flirting, it's a wonder you keep me around."

TJ's look was sly and flirtatious. "You have your uses."

Steve cleared a very dry throat. "Are you trying to get me hard right now?"

"Maybe a little, yeah," TJ said, not sounding the least bit sorry. "It's your own fault that you look really hot when you're flustered."

"TJ..."

"Alright, alright, I'll be nice." TJ obligingly put a small bit of space between them. "You know we're being filmed right now, right?"

Steve was well aware of the phones and cameras turned their way. "Is that your way of saying you wanna lead so we don't look bad?"

"Unbelievable, I don't know how you still do it," TJ said, following Steve through the next turn. "Every time I think I've got a handle on you, you surprise me."

"That's a good thing, right? I'd hate to bore you this early into...whatever this is."

"I'm not sure you could be boring if you tried. Except when giving interviews, of course," TJ replied, with a small, private smile. "But now that I've broken the seal, I've got at least four of Nana's friends I need to ask to dance or they'll never speak to me again. You gonna be okay on your own?"

"Oh sure, I'll just go find your dad and ask for embarrassing stories about your childhood – ow, I'm kidding," Steve laughed, after the punch to his arm. "I'll be fine. Just don't leave here without me."

"Never," TJ promised and, with a quick wink that was almost sweet, headed over to one of the couples they'd been talking to earlier. 

***

"You know you don't actually have to do this," TJ commented, when the limo rolled to a stop outside TJ's brownstone. 

Steve fell in step beside him as they climbed out of the back seat and headed up the small flight of stairs. "A date's a date and my mother would come back from the grave and haunt me if I didn't walk you to your door."

TJ turned to face Steve at the landing, the slight breeze ruffling his hair. "Steve Rogers, single-handedly bringing chivalry back to the world," he teased.

"I think the world's a pretty tall order. How about just to this small corner of New York?" 

"It's a good start." Then TJ glanced at him from under his lashes. He still had on his jacket, but his tie and the top button of his shirt were undone, and just seeing a glimpse of his bare throat made Steve's breath catch.

"I, uh, I had a nice time tonight."

"Me too." TJ smiled, and flicked his tongue along his lips. "I really want to invite you in right now."

Steve swayed forward, caught himself at the last second. "It's your call," he said.

The very air around them seemed to still. Blue-green eyes studied him for a few charged moments, then dropped to his mouth. "It'd be a really bad idea."

"Probably," Steve agreed.

"But I can't – I really need to – Fuck, I really _am_ bad at this," TJ said, then grabbed hold of Steve's lapels and yanked.

Their lips met in a messy slide, the kiss hard and hungry and soul-shatteringly perfect. Someone made a small, desperate noise – Steve wasn't sure if it was him or TJ – and then TJ's tongue swept against his, and Steve angled his head to get even deeper. He had enough presence of mind to keep his hands confined to TJ's hips, but when TJ pressed against him in one long line of heat, he didn't pull away. Instead, he poured every bit of pent up longing into meeting TJ halfway, met the insistent slide of TJ's tongue with his own, and gave himself over to the moment.

TJ's lips were unbearably soft, conformed to his like they were puzzle pieces clicking in place. He tasted like champagne and sunshine and something that was purely, addictively TJ. Steve couldn't get enough. His heart was beating wild in his chest, blocking all other sound. His lungs felt as tight as they used to when he was an asthmatic kid. Every single atom was attuned to TJ and only TJ. He wanted nothing more than to push TJ against the door and get his hands on every bit of skin he possibly could.

But when TJ slowly pulled back, Steve let it happen.

"Holy...wow," TJ breathed. His lips were enticingly red. "I take it back."

"Huh?" There was a curious buzzing in Steve's ears. His body felt so overheated it was a wonder he hadn't combusted.

"Your kissing skills." TJ looked dazed and debauched and far too tempting for Steve's peace of mind. "You don't need any help."

"You're, uh...you're not so bad yourself." Which was the understatement of the century. Even his voice sounded like he'd run a marathon.

"Yeah, okay, I need to...um. Before I can't. Maybe put my head in the freezer or beat off or both."

"I'll definitely be doing both," Steve replied, before he could think about it.

TJ let out a low groan and pressed their foreheads together. "You need to stop talking."

"Sorry." He relaxed his hold, concentrated on breathing until he didn't feel quite as lightheaded.

"Okay." TJ leaned back, offered a sheepish smile. "I'm going inside now. And if I'm lucky, I'll be okay by Tuesday night."

"Hey, if you're not comfortable –"

"That was a joke, relax. Well, mostly a joke," TJ amended. "I'll see you Tuesday night. Bring beer or wine if you want it, I don't keep it in the house. Safer, y'know."

"Yeah, I get it." Steve forced himself to let go, to take a step back and down the stairs. "Night," he said, and walked towards the limo. He foresaw a ton of cold showers in his future.

***


	33. Chapter 33

"So." A tablet appeared in front of Steve at his work table. Tanja's grinning face appeared over the top of it. Her hair was in a loosely-held bun today, but Steve could see the streaks of bright red, and her shirt had smudges of charcoal on it. "You wanna tell me anything?"

Steve glanced at the tablet. Tanja had pulled up the home page of some gossip site, and Steve saw a photograph of himself and TJ on the dance floor from Saturday night. "Not really."

"Oh, come on. You're trending on Twitter, you're all over my dash on Tumblr, and you don't have anything at all to add about what happened?"

Steve sort of thought the photo said everything there was to say, but apparently not. "I'm not really good at small talk with rich people? It was really hot in my uniform? The champagne was pretty good? The band wasn't?" 

"Oh my God, you're such a fucking troll." She plopped onto the seat opposite him, waved the tablet like she was waving a baton. "You're _dating_ TJ Hammond and that's all you have to say for yourself?"

"Not much else to say," Steve replied. 

He returned his gaze to his sketchpad. Around them, the rest of the class was at various easels and stations, some working with oils and pencils, others with clay. The walls were a bright, cheery rainbow wallpaper that reminded Steve of Lifesavers candies, and were covered in various drawings. The music piping in from the sound system was as bright and cheery as the wallpaper, something danceable and pop-y. Not Steve's preferred musical taste, but it was easy enough to tune out. It was a far cry from the stuffy, silent art classes he and Buck had taken before the War.

"That's all I get?" Tanja leaned in on her elbows. "I thought we were friends." 

Steve made a face. "Did I ask you about you and Daniel? Or you and that one co-worker, the cute redhead...?"

"Uh, neither one of them is a First Son or a ringer for my dead best friend."

"Not with him because of Bucky." He was already sick of the question. Maybe he could borrow Tony's publicist and put out a press release. Not that he thought it would stop the speculation, but at least he'd be on record.

"Sorry, didn't mean to hit a nerve," she said. She laid a conciliatory hand on his arm. "But come on, you're Captain America and he's a Hammond. It's like if JFK had married Marilyn Monroe or something instead of just banging her on the sly. Not that you and TJ Hammond are getting married, I mean."

"I dunno, I still think JFK was an idiot for cheating on Jackie," Steve said. "But maybe I just have a thing for brunettes."

"Peggy Carter, TJ Hammond...yeah, I think you're onto something," she nodded. "So, you're really not going to give me any details?"

"I'm really not going to give you any details."

She sighed, long and suffering and very put upon. "Fine, I guess I can respect that. At least bring him by the store sometime so I can meet him. I'll set you up with Wire and Bad Religion and NOFX records for life."

"For life, huh?" Steve grinned, and because he really couldn't resist her pleading look, turned his sketchpad around so she could see what he was working on. "Deal."

"Oh, Cap..." She picked up the pad with hands that were practically quivering in excitement. "This is _really_ good. You've totally captured his vibe. Are you gonna give it to him?"

"Maybe." He took the pad back and studied the drawing with a critical eye. It was a pretty good likeness, but he couldn't get TJ's smile quite right, and he was sure he was missing a few freckles. 

"You should."

"We'll see." It still needed work, but maybe, at some point. When they were both ready. "And I'll bring him by one day."

"Alright, alright, I'm going." She scooped up her tablet and stood. "But if you _do_ feel up to sharing the deets on how things are going sometime, I can also set you up with free coffee for life, too."

"I'll think about it," Steve said, and bent back to his pad.

***


	34. Chapter 34

Steve tucked the bottle of chardonnay under his arm and rang the bell of TJ's brownstone. He hoped he wasn't overdressed in grey slacks and a blue polo, but a date was a date, even if it was simply a dinner at someone's house. Maybe he _was_ old-fashioned in some ways, but it wasn't like he wasn't aware of it. Although he did feel marginally better when TJ answered the door wearing black slacks and a black oxford.

And if Steve had a momentary thought about pinning TJ against the door and kissing him breathless, well, he was only human. 

"Are you always going to be disgustingly punctual?" TJ asked, a smile flitting around the edges of his mouth.

Steve cocked an eyebrow. "How long have we known each other now?"

"I was afraid of that," TJ said, shaking his head. "C'mon in." 

Steve followed him into the kitchen, discreetly admiring the cut of TJ's pants the entire way. Which probably wasn't the best thing for his equilibrium, but he never claimed to be a saint, either. "I, uh, I wasn't sure what to get," he said, gesturing at the wine, "so I asked the guy at the store what went well with everything and he suggested this, so..."

"It'll be fine," TJ assured him, and set the bottle on the counter. Then he crooked his finger. "C'mere."

Steve met TJ halfway, and their mouths slid together, soft and slow, worlds away from the other night's pent up frustration and barely contained passion. TJ's lips were light against his, almost chaste, and the hand cupping his jaw was gentle. Steve had no idea what to do with his own hands, so he just kept them by his sides, followed TJ's lead, and relaxed into the kiss. 

"Better," TJ said, when he pulled back. His gaze was as warm as the sun in July. 

Steve tugged at his shirt collar, tried to cool heated skin. "Was that a, um, a question?"

"Nope, just getting that out of the way so we can eat in peace." He patted Steve's cheek and moved to the stove. "Otherwise I'd spend the entire meal staring at your mouth."

"If you're trying to distract me from thinking too much, it's not working." In fact, Steve wasn't sure he'd be able to think of anything except TJ's taste for the rest of the night.

"At least now you have something to think about." TJ lifted the lid on the skillet and Steve's senses were assailed by an amazing mix of scents. Garlic and chicken broth and lemon and some spice Steve couldn't name but was dying to try.

"That smells amazing."

TJ flashed him a quick grin. "Hopefully it tastes as good as it smells," he said, stirring the sauce with a wooden spoon. "I normally would never try a brand new recipe on a first date, but I figured this isn't really a first date."

Steve leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "I'm pretty sure we've had the slowest courtship in modern history."

"Courtship," TJ chuckled, little laugh lines appearing at the corners of his eyes. Made the freckles dotting his cheeks seem a little bit bigger. "I like that. Sounds classy."

"Hey, I'm a classy guy, ask anyone." Steve grinned. "So, what are we having anyway?"

"Braised chicken with artichokes and portobello mushrooms and a Greek salad. And I might have made strawberry cheesecake for dessert."

Steve blinked. It sounded...well, it sounded amazing, mostly. But it also sounded like a lot of trouble. "You made all that? For us?"

TJ shrugged. "It's not that big of a deal." 

"Well, it is to me," Steve quietly said.

"Don't tell me no one's cooked you dinner before," TJ said, casting a disbelieving look his way.

"I didn't say that," Steve said. There hadn't been that many, to be honest, but that wasn't the point. "You're not just anyone."

"Okay, you really need to stop looking at me like that or we're not going to eat or talk and that sort of needs to happen."

"Sorry," Steve replied, even though he really wasn't. His lips were still tingling from the kiss. "What can I do to help?"

TJ turned the stove off and started transferring the chicken to a serving bowl. "Um, get the salad out of the fridge and open the wine, if you want."

Steve did as requested and took everything out to the table. TJ had already set out two place settings. It all looked...cozy. Romantic, if Steve had to label it.

"Maybe I should have bought flowers."

"I'm partial to orchids," TJ said, bringing the bowl to the table. "But no roses. I may like dudes, but I didn't get that much of the gay gene."

"I didn't realize there were rules for guys for liking flowers."

"I can see I still have a lot to teach you," TJ said, and gestured at Steve to take a seat. "So what have you been up to since Saturday night?"

"My days are pretty boring." He poured them each a glass of wine and accepted his salad bowl from TJ with a murmured thanks. "I mean, it's a good thing and all, but no one's seemed to need Captain America in awhile."

TJ speared a bite of romaine with his fork. "I wasn't asking about Captain America. What have _you_ been up to?"

"You really want me to bore you with the details?"

"Yeah, kind of," TJ said, giving him a quizzical look. "Unless maybe you think I haven't noticed that you never talk about what you're doing with your time. I mean, if it's classified, that's fine, I know you still go on missions sometimes –"

Steve let out a mirthless laugh. "My life is the furthest thing in the world from classified right now."

"So tell me."

"I, um...I go for a run first thing in the morning. I train at this boxing club every day, sometimes I go by Stark's and go through training simulations there –"

"What are you training for?"

"Just keeping sharp, I guess." Steve picked up his fork again. "I have an art class on Monday and Thursday mornings. I read a lot. Sometimes I wander around New York, see what's new and improved. I have a VA meeting every Wednesday night. I have a standing card game on Sundays with the old guy that lives across the hall from me."

"You don't sound excited by any of it," TJ observed. 

"Because I'm not," Steve replied, honestly, and went back to his salad.

"Because you're bored at the lack of real action or because you don't know what to do with your life now?"

Steve took a much bigger than normal sip of his wine and almost choked. "How did you –?"

"I'm an addict. I've learned to read people over the years," TJ said, and those green-blue eyes of his were compassionate and saw far too much. "Mostly so I could figure out ways to use them and get what I wanted from them, but the habit's carried over to now. Plus, I know you pretty well by now, I think. And, even on the first night we met, I could tell you were a man struggling to find his place." He laid a hand over Steve's wrist. "I know what that looks like. And what it feels like."

"I'm fine," Steve said, the reply automatic. "I mean, yeah, I haven't quite gotten into the rhythm of civilian life, but I'm good. You don't have to worry about me." 

"Okay," TJ said softly. "But if you want to talk about it – any of it – I'm here. This thing between us, it'll only work if we communicate. At least, that's what Nana and Dougie keep telling me."

The knot in Steve's stomach unraveled at TJ's easy, relaxed tone. "They seem pretty smart."

"Yeah, and they keep reminding me of it, too," TJ laughed. "So you mentioned an art class?"

"Oh yeah, it's...a friend of mine's getting her BFA at NYU and she arranged for me to audit her advanced drawing class," Steve explained, between bites of his salad. "I like it – it's a very open, creative space, and I'm thinking of maybe going there full-time come fall and getting my degree. I've been told I qualify for the VA bill."

He wasn't sure what he would do with a degree, but at least he'd have the structure of classes, and he could pick up on more of what he'd missed when he was under the ice.

"Even if you didn't, I'm pretty sure they'd make an exception in your case," TJ said. "And if they didn't, I'm damn sure my mom or my dad would make sure you got a free ride."

"I'd hate to think I was taking a scholarship from someone who could really use it."

"God, did you always have this much of a martyr complex growing up or was this something the serum brought out?"

Steve shrugged and smiled. "Both?"

"We gotta work on that," TJ replied. "You ready for the chicken?"

"Sure." He waited for TJ to serve them, then dug in. At the first bite, he let out a low moan. "Oh man, this is...amazing."

"Yeah?" With a pleased smile, TJ tried it himself, and let out a satisfied hum. "Could use a little more garam masala, but not bad for a first pass."

"I can't imagine this tasting any better than it does right now."

"Seriously, you've got me. There's no need for...the compliments and such."

"I'm not complimenting you to get in your pants, TJ."

"I know, I'm sorry, I just..." TJ sighed and put down his fork. "I guess I'm still having a hard time believing that you...you know. With me."

"I've told you already, get used to it. Because I definitely want to, _y'know_." Steve grinned, mimicking TJ's tone. "With you." 

TJ picked up his wine glass, long fingers toying with the stems. "Alright, let's talk about that. I mean, if you don't mind."

"Don't mind what?" Steve asked, mystified.

"Talking about the fact that you like guys as well as girls," TJ said, then frowned. "Wait, _do_ you even like girls?"

How was that even a question? "Yes," he answered. "Very much."

"Okay, good to know the history books got something right," TJ said. "Who was she? The first girl you ever kissed?"

"Becky McAuley. I was ten." God, he hadn't thought about that moment in years. "Bucky dared me. Uh, the next time I kissed a girl after that, I was seventeen."

TJ cupped his chin in his hand and leaned in. "What about the USO girls? Did any of the pretend boyfriend playacting turn into anything real?"

Steve finished the last of his chicken with a satisfied sigh. "I plead the fifth."

TJ narrowed his eyes. "Oh really?"

"A gentleman never kisses and tells on a lady." Even if they all were long dead.

"Alright, I can respect that. But now I'm dying to know if you and Peggy Carter ever...?"

Steve shook his head. Felt the familiar pang of regret he knew he'd always have that they'd been robbed of their chance, but time had softened the edges of it. "No, but it wasn't because neither of us didn't want to," he said. "It was just...crappy timing. But I like to think we could have made each other happy."

"Anyone else you thought you could be happy with?"

"A few women here and there. No one that's lasted. Well, no one I _allowed_ myself to last."

"Sometimes it's easier." TJ nodded, with another knowing look. "If you never let anyone in, you're never disappointed."

It sounded far too familiar and way too close for comfort. "What about you? Or did you always know you were into men?"

"Oh yeah, there've been a few women." TJ topped off Steve's wine. He left his own glass empty, however. "I definitely prefer men, but, I dunno, there's nothing like sliding inside a woman. Plus, y'know," he added with a grin, "tits."

"I can't fault you there," Steve agreed, because, honestly, what else was there to say?

"So tell me when you figured out you also liked guys."

He'd never told this story to anyone. (Bucky didn't count as he'd been there at the time.) But he trusted TJ and, much like with Peggy, time had dulled the worst of the remorse. Still, he was glad to have the wine glass in his hands, just to have something to do with them. "I'd always been attracted to women, but there was this fella who worked at the docks with Buck – Felix Sherman. Bucky brought him around for a drink after his shift one day, he was new in town, didn't really know anyone, and _wow_ , you know. It was like getting hit by a ton of bricks. He wasn't handsome in any conventional sense, but he saw me. Skinny Steve. Looked right at me and saw me."

Gentle fingers brushed his hair back from his forehead, lingered at his temple. "What happened to him?"

"Same thing that happened to the rest of us – the War," Steve said, grateful for the touch that kept him grounded in the present. "He enlisted after Pearl Harbor same as me and Bucky, only he got called up right away. Got hit by some shrapnel during Operation Gaslight, and bled out on the battlefield."

"I'm sorry."

"The thing is, I never even worked up the nerve to say anything to him about how I felt. Buck kept telling me to go for it, but just...the idea of another rejection when so many dames had already turned me down flat..."

TJ leaned in to press a soft kiss to the corner of Steve's mouth. "Don't be so hard on yourself."

"Thank you." Steve grabbed at TJ's hand, and held on. "So, um, what about you?"

"I think I always knew I liked guys better than girls, but the first one I ever kissed was when I was twelve. Dad was still the governor of North Carolina and his chief of staff had a son mine and Doug's age. Bobby Turner," TJ said, nostalgia tingeing his voice. "God, I can't believe I'm even talking about this. I haven't thought about him in forever."

"The first guy I ever kissed – Mike Flannery – was right before I shipped out to Camp Lehigh." Steve wondered what happened to him, hoped he had a good life, that he found happiness. God knew so many of the people he knew back then deserved far better fates.

"What about the last guy before me?" TJ asked. "Because you didn't kiss like a man who was out of practice."

How was he supposed to answer that? "Uh, yeah..."

TJ's eyes lit up like Christmas. "Okay, that little bashful smile means I'm onto something, right? You gotta tell me who now."

Steve thought about lying for a half-second, but discarded the idea almost immediately. He was terrible at it, first off, and he knew how much the truth meant to TJ. But, he was never living this down. 

"Uh...Thor," he mumbled.

TJ's jaw dropped. " _Really_?" 

"Mmhmm." 

"Faith in humanity restored for the visual alone." TJ put his free hand to his heart and thumped at his chest. "Tell me you filmed it."

"Oh, um, no. Sorry." He really wasn't.

"I had a feeling you'd say that. No matter, I have a very vivid imagination."

"Whatever it is you're imagining, the reality was better," Steve said, then winced slightly. "Not that I'm comparing the two of you or anything, because I'm not..." 

TJ shut him up with another light, barely there kiss. "Seriously, how does anyone who sees it resist that blush of yours? It's like catnip."

"You'd be surprised at the things people don't know about me," Steve said, licking at his lower lip to chase TJ's taste. 

"Add it to the ninja-ness that is you."

"Ninja-ness?"

"Yes, ninja-ness," TJ confirmed. "But yeah, there's a lot more to you than most people know. Like the stellar kissing skills and the fact that you swing both ways." 

"Most people think the uniform means I'm some sort of paragon of virtue," Steve replied. "A lot of people tend to forget I was a rabble-rouser and rule-breaker well before the serum."

"Well, it's not like you're out there trying to prove anyone wrong about you, either."

"I'm not interested in proving a point just to prove a point." That wasn't his style, never had been. "I have better things to do with my time."

TJ was silent for a moment, then he gave Steve a sly, knowing look. "So, do all these ninja skills mean I should expect the unexpected in bed or...?"

Steve knew exactly what TJ was trying to do. And yeah, he'd promised they'd go at TJ's pace, but that didn't mean he couldn't get a little of his own back. So he dropped his voice, then dropped his gaze to TJ's mouth. "Take me to bed and find out."

TJ huffed out a short breath. His eyes seemed to glaze over. "Okay, I had that coming."

Steve held his thumb and forefinger a half inch apart. "A little bit," he said, smiling. "But hey, I also meant it."

"I know you did," TJ replied, and smiled back, wide and almost sweet. "But if I were to ask if you wanted to skip dessert and make out on the sofa for a little while instead...?"

Steve's breath caught in his throat. "You wouldn't need to ask twice." 

***


	35. Chapter 35

"And?" Tony asked, when Steve paused to take another sip of his orange juice.

"And what?"

"And what next?"

"You know what next," Steve replied, confused. "I don't think we've made a secret of the fact that we're seeing each other." 

"You were seeing each other beforehand. Inquiring minds want to know if you've actually done the deed or if you're still being disgustingly chivalric about the whole thing." Tony turned to Bruce and Pepper, who were both calmly eating their omelets. "C'mon, help me out here."

"It's none of our business what they're doing or not doing," Bruce said.

"I think it's sweet that they're taking their time," Pepper added.

"Forget I asked them anything, they clearly have no idea what they're talking about." Tony pinned Steve with a look. "Are you, to pardon the vernacular, screwing him or not?"

In retrospect, maybe coming over for breakfast hadn't been such a great idea. But he also knew he wasn't going to be able to deflect the question for long. Tony was remarkably persistent about certain things.

Besides, he'd rather not give Tony the ammunition to harp at him about his 'old-fashioned' grandpa morality or whatever it was he was calling it these days.

"No, I'm not. And, no, before you ask, it's not because of me. But I'm not about to force the issue," Steve said, and picked up his piece of toast. The draft coming in from the balcony of Tony and Pepper's penthouse felt like heaven. The calendar might suggest fall was here, but the summer heat was stubbornly sticking around. 

Pepper frowned slightly. "Have you tried talking with TJ about this?"

"What could I say that won't make me sound like everyone else he's ever been with?" Steve asked. "I'm not in this just to get laid."

"But that is something you want, yes?"

Tony smirked at Bruce. "And you say you're not that type of doctor."

"I don't need a degree in psychology to know that sex is an important component of a relationship, Tony."

"Yes," Steve said, before the two of them could build up any steam. "Of course I want to have sex with him." Hell, just talking about it was making him hard. "But I made a promise, so I stop when he tells me and I go home when he tells me."

"Which is admirable, but you're also in this with him and that means you get a say," Pepper reminded him. "Even if you're respecting his needs, you should make your own needs known."

"Pepper's very fond of open and honest communication," Tony said, with a doting look in her direction.

"Also an important component to any relationship," Bruce said, and picked up his tea cup. "It's been, what, a month, since you two decided to give this thing a whirl?"

"Yeah, right around."

"I don't think I've ever waited a month for sex," Tony said. "Pep, did I ever wait a month?"

She let out an amused snort. "Tony, you thought waiting a day was an eternity," she told him. "But we knew each other for years before we had sex."

"That's different."

"Yeah, I'm not seeing how," Steve said, and polished off his juice. "And anyway, it's not like we spend every waking hour together or anything. He's got the club to run and other friends and a life that doesn't revolve around me. We get together for lunch sometimes and I go over for dinner on Tuesdays. But, I didn't really come over to talk about me and TJ. I came to tell you yes."

"Yes?" Tony frowned. "If this is about a threesome, a) I was probably drunk when I asked, and b) Bruce has dibs."

"Still don't want a threesome with you, Tony."

"Your lips say no, but your eyes say you wanna be the filling in our sandwich."

Steve gave Pepper a helpless glance. "How do you do it?"

"Years of practice," she smiled, then lightly nudged Tony. "Steve wasn't talking about a threesome – and, for the record, I'm not sharing our bed with anyone, no matter who they are – he was talking about coming to work for my foundation. Right?"

"Yes. I mean, yes to the foundation, no to the threesome," Steve clarified, because one never knew with Tony. "But I've, uh, I sort of have this idea of maybe pairing some of the vets in my meetings or in the Common Ground program with some of your kids. Like, I dunno, giving the vets structure and someone to mentor and a sense of purpose, and the kids someone in their corner, who could help them like a Big Brother or Sister thing."

"That's...huh, that's actually a really good idea," Tony said.

"You sound surprised."

"It's a great idea," Pepper said, with an approving nod. "Come by the office this week and we can sit down with Nancy and figure out all the details. I assume this is something you want to be hands-on involved with?"

"Yes." It wasn't what he thought he'd be doing with his time, not even close, but it was still helping people. And, hopefully, it would keep him busy.

"Alright," she said, and typed something into her phone. "I'll email or text you as soon as I know a time."

"Thank you."

"Can we go back one quick second to this no threesome rule," Tony said, pushing his yellow-tinted glasses down his nose to look at Pepper. "No exceptions, not even if Bruce begged –"

"Still not interested," Bruce piped in, shaking his head.

"Semantics," Tony said, waving him off. "But just say, for instance –"

Pepper placed a finger against Tony's lips. "No," she said, smiling, but completely serious. "No exceptions. Now stop harassing Bruce and finish your breakfast."

"I'll wear you both down eventually," Tony stated, with the supreme confidence of a man who was wholly unused to being turned down. He stabbed a piece of pineapple with his fork.

Steve privately thought that Tony didn't stand a chance.

***


	36. Chapter 36

"You, uh...do you want to stay?" TJ asked, before diving back in for another kiss. His lips were delightfully full and bruised, and his eyes were heavy-lidded and almost completely dilated. They'd been lazily making out for the better part of...well, Steve wasn't exactly sure how long. Just that he had TJ stretched out over him on the sofa, his body a warm, heavy weight on top of Steve's own, and he didn't want to move.

"What, like...tonight?" Steve's brain was more than a little foggy.

"Yeah tonight," TJ chuckled, giving Steve an affectionate look. Steve wanted to kiss every single one of TJ's freckles, then work his way down. "I don't mean...we don't have to do anything, but, I've, uh, I've never actually slept with anyone. I mean, _just_ sleeping."

"Oh." Steve tightened his hands around TJ's hips. Not exactly what he'd been hoping to hear, but it was still progress. He didn't even try to stop the sly, slow smile. "TJ Hammond, are you asking me to cuddle with you?"

TJ dropped his forehead to Steve's shoulder and groaned, the sound reverberating between them. "Oh God, maybe. Yeah." 

"In that case, absolutely."

TJ peered up. "Really?"

"I'm a champion cuddler," Steve said, with his most serious expression. "I bet they never taught you guys _that_ in the history books."

"You know, I gotta say, I don't ever remember hearing that about you," TJ said, and met Steve for another slow kiss. "But I can't wait to see it in action."

"You sure that's all you want to do?"

TJ went still for a long, telling moment. Then he pulled his head back to look at Steve, a wary, quizzical look on his face. "What do you mean?"

Steve could hear Pepper's voice in his head, urging him to tell the truth. To make his own needs known. "It's still your show, I promise. But I can feel how hard you are and if you wanted to take things further...well, I wouldn't object."

"I see." TJ carefully sat up and moved to the other end of the sofa. Steve scrambled to a sitting position as well. He hoped he hadn't just made a mistake. Sure, he set a store by honesty, but he also knew the value of discretion.

"Look, we don't have to do anything," he started. "I'm not trying to pressure –"

"One of the dirty little secrets they don't tell you about getting clean and trying to stay that way is you can get to be...somewhat of a control freak." TJ's hands were clenched tightly together in his lap, but his gaze was welcoming and steady, so Steve took it as a good sign that TJ wasn't too upset with him. "It's a coping mechanism."

"Okay?" Steve offered, not entirely sure where TJ was going with this. 

"And part of that is – and I'm not really proud of it – testing people and trying to have control over them and over every situation."

Steve wanted to reach out, but he didn't. He kept his hands to himself and tried to concentrate on what TJ was saying and not on how fuckably debauched he looked. This was clearly an important conversation, even though Steve wasn't sure what it was about. "I'm...I'm sorry. I'm sort of lost here."

"God, you're really going to make me say it. No, it's fine, I need to own my shit," TJ said, when Steve opened his mouth to reply. "Everything I've been doing – telling you I wanted to take it slow, keeping my distance physically, not taking anything further than kissing, asking you to stay just to cuddle..."

"You wanted to see how I'd react," Steve finished, finally putting everything together.

"Like I said, I'm not proud of it. And if you decide –"

"Okay, I'm going to stop you right there. I'm not saying it's been comfortable for me to walk around sporting semi-wood every time you're around, but I can handle it," Steve said, as firmly as he could. "Yes, I want you. Of course I want you. But if this is something you need... Test me if that'll make you feel better about things."

TJ pinched the bridge of his nose, and shifted. "That's just it. I don't _want_ to. This isn't going to work if I spend every waking minute trying to stay in control of everything."

"I'm not sure what you want me to say here."

"Don't say anything. Just call me out on it when I do something like that again. I need you to hold me accountable."

Steve risked sliding the tips of his fingers along TJ's ankle, just under the hem of his jeans. "We can wait a week or a month or a year, I don't care. As long as you're comfortable and on board and you want to be with me for the right reasons. I'm in this for the long haul," he said, drawing small circles on TJ's skin. "But, if you wanted – and only if you wanted – I would really like to lay you out on your bed and show you how much I want you. You don't have to do anything, you don't have to reciprocate, I just...I'd like to make you feel good."

"I think..." TJ let out a slow, shaky breath. "I think I'd really like that. But are you sure –?"

"No buts, no qualifications," Steve said, and stood, pulling TJ to his feet. "Just me and you, okay?"

"Yeah, okay." TJ nodded, and grabbed Steve's hand, leading him down the hallway and into the bedroom. "Sorry about the mess," he said, when he turned on the light. "I, um, wasn't expecting that we'd..."

"It's fine," Steve said, and grinned at the unmade bed. "Saves us the trouble, right?"

"Yeah, I guess." TJ pressed a hand to his sternum and exhaled. "God, I'm really nervous right now. I don't even think I was this nervous the first time I had sex."

"I like it," Steve said, and smoothed his hands under TJ's shirt, mapping warm, firm skin. "Remember, this is about you, so if I start doing anything you don't want..."

"I can't even imagine you doing anything to me that I wouldn't want," TJ said, and drew him in for another long, drugging kiss. 

Steve removed TJ's clothing with reverent slowness. Stripped him down to just his boxer briefs, then urged him onto his back on the bed. His gaze roamed down strong shoulders dotted with freckles and a nicely muscled, lightly furred chest to washboard abs and lean, runner's legs. Greedily looked his fill at miles of bare pale skin, just waiting for his touch.

"Wow," he murmured, already breathless just from the view. "Look at you."

TJ squirmed under the scrutiny. "I'm nothing special. I mean, not compared to you."

"No, you're something special alright." He ran a light finger along TJ's sternum, then flattened his palm over TJ's heart, felt the steady, fast rhythm. "I've got a list for days of things I want to do to you," he said, finally dropping all of his guards and letting TJ see exactly how much he wanted this. "You have no idea how hard it's been for me to keep my hands to myself."

TJ's throat moved when he swallowed, and his answering look was so heated that Steve's control started to fray around the edges. "I know how hard it's been for me to keep from touching you. You, uh, you're not gonna keep your clothes on, are you?"

"Do you want me to take them off?"

TJ gestured down at his crotch and the outline of his erection through the briefs. "That's a stupid question."

Steve laughed, but pulled his shirt off and started unbuttoning his jeans. "I'm leaving these on," he said, gesturing at his own briefs. "I don't think I could trust myself to be naked around you."

"Somehow, that sounds almost romantic." TJ smiled, then held out a hand. "Come here already."

Steve stretched out over TJ, dipped his head to get at TJ's mouth. He kept the kisses light, easy, took his time, stretched every movement out taffy-slow. TJ sighed and relaxed under him, met the slide of Steve's tongue with his own, and this was perfect. This was _exactly_ what Steve wanted. TJ pliant and trusting beneath him, letting Steve take the lead and ceding some of that tightly held control.

He ran his hands along TJ's sides, nipped at TJ's lower lip, then soothed the sting with another kiss. "You have the most addictive mouth..."

"Could say the same about you." TJ gasped when Steve scraped his teeth along TJ's throat. "Jesus..."

"Just lie back." Steve dipped his tongue at the hollow, trailed a path along TJ's collarbones. "Let me make you feel good."

"Yeah, that's not gonna, uh, be...a problem..."

Steve just smiled, and continued making his slow way down TJ's body, paying homage to every bit of flesh with butterfly kisses and gentle bites. Now that he was here – in TJ's bed, with TJ writhing and needy under him, with the clean taste of TJ's skin on his tongue and the feel of hard muscle under his hands – he wasn't in any hurry to go anywhere. It had been far too long since he'd allowed himself to have this. Since he'd allowed himself to want anyone as much as he wanted TJ Hammond. And he wanted everything. Wanted every moan, every sigh, wanted to sink inside TJ's body until they were one person, wanted TJ inside of him, claiming him in the most elemental of ways. 

A line of sweat rolled down the cut of TJ's hips, and Steve chased it with his tongue, dragged his nails along the soft skin of TJ's thighs. "Can I?" he asked, need making his voice hoarse, reed-thin. 

TJ lolled his head, blinked his eyes open, and Steve saw his own need reflected back at him out of blue-green depths. "Anything," TJ whispered, and that was all the acquiescence Steve needed.

He rolled TJ's briefs down, took a moment to admire the curve of TJ's cock before closing his lips over the head, lapping at the precome pearling from the slit. The taste, heavy and musky and addictive as sin, had him seeking even more. It had been awhile since he'd done this, but he got back into the rhythm of it soon enough, created a tight suction of slick heat as he took TJ as deep as he could.

Strong hands clutched at his shoulders, then buried themselves in his hair. He met the upward snap of TJ's hips, flattened his tongue along the underside, and started moving again. Slow, then fast, then slow again, taking his cues from the way TJ was trembling beneath him.

"God, your mouth...Steve..." TJ let out another low, desperate moan that went right to Steve's own cock, and he redoubled his efforts, wrapped two of his fingers snug around the base to meet the next slide of his lips.

"Steve...I'm gonna...oh fuck...c'mere, please..."

He let himself get dragged up, met TJ's hard, messy kiss, and held TJ through his orgasm as he came, shuddering, all over Steve's fist. When he pulled back for a look, TJ's eyes were closed, his face was flushed, and his lips were red and more than slightly swollen. 

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you look right now?"

"No, but I feel fucking amazing." TJ smiled, lazy and very satisfied, and the smile was reflected in the look in his eyes. "Who knew Captain America was so good at sucking dick."

Steve chuckled and sat up, started looking around for something to use to wipe off his hand. "I could argue and say Captain America's never sucked anyone off, but that wouldn't be technically true, so, thanks, I guess."

"In there." TJ pointed at the top drawer of his bedside dresser, and waited while Steve found a washcloth and cleaned them both up. "So, that means you have had sex in the uniform."

Steve tossed the rag into the hamper in the corner and stretched out beside TJ. "That would not be an erroneous assumption."

"Jesus, you sound like my parents, which is _not_ something I need in my head at the moment," TJ said, scooting closer until he and Steve were nestled close together. "You going to tell me any particulars or should I just assume you and Thor had some post-Avenging celebratory sex?"

"I never had sex with Thor while wearing the uniform," Steve said, and dropped a kiss to TJ's lips. "Didn't you say something much earlier about cuddling?"

"I did, but..." TJ glanced down, then back up. "Seems to me like I need to return the favor first."

"I didn't do this as a quid pro quo, remember," Steve replied. "You don't owe me anything."

"You're sure you don't...?"

"This was about you and nothing else." Steve pulled TJ into his arms. "I've got everything I need right here."

"Okay." TJ pressed a kiss to Steve's jaw, and dropped his head to Steve's shoulder. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me for keeping my word."

"No, not for that. For...for understanding earlier."

"Your pace," Steve reminded him, and pressed a light kiss to TJ's hair. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Good thing, because you make a great pillow," TJ said, the words slurred as his eyes drifted shut.

Steve just smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment," he said, and closed his eyes. Maybe he could actually get a couple of hours sleep.

***


	37. Chapter 37

There were definitely worse ways to begin the day, Steve thought. The blankets had been kicked to the foot of the bed at some point, so Steve was free to look his fill at the man snuggled (and there was no other word for it) up next to him. Even in sleep, TJ radiated energy and life, a restless vibrancy that was so much a part of him. Steve thought maybe it was that energy he'd fallen for first. He wished he had his sketchbook on him.

TJ stirred, blinking heavy-lidded eyes open, and smiled, soft and sleepy and utterly irresistible. "Mornin'."

"Good morning," Steve replied, and curled his arm back around TJ's shoulders. "How're you feeling?"

TJ glanced at the bedside clock, then buried his face against Steve's shoulder. "Pretty good, considering the hour," he mumbled. "Please tell me you're not a morning person."

"Guilty as charged."

TJ groaned, shifted so he was even closer to Steve. "I may have to rethink this whole relationship thing."

"I like the sound of that."

"Me rethinking things?"

"No, you saying relationship." Steve liked it a lot, in fact. 

"Definitely earning brownie points," TJ said, and scraped his teeth along Steve's jaw. His hand crept steadily down, smoothed over Steve's chest, then his abs. "And I think it's my turn."

Steve shivered, tilted his chin to give TJ greater access. His skin tingled everywhere TJ was touching him. "You don't have to..."

"Are you saying you _don't_ want my hands and mouth on you?"

"No, of course I do, I –"

"Alright, then, shut up." TJ smiled, and slid his hand under Steve's briefs to curl those long, artist's fingers around Steve's cock.

Steve's back arched off the bed, the shiver turning into an all-over body shudder. TJ's touch was light, but assured, raced along Steve's body like an electric current. Every stroke was confident, slow, took him even deeper. Then those lips moved to his throat, licked at the hollow, and Steve gave himself over to whatever TJ wanted of him.

He completely lost track of time, all of his focus on the hands and lips roaming over him. On the heat of a slick mouth and even slicker fingers wringing moan after moan out of him until he was practically begging. When he finally came, he could only sigh TJ's name, the sound more of an exhalation than anything else. He drifted in the aftermath as TJ rummaged in his drawer for a cloth to clean off his hand, his entire body loose and relaxed. If he was a cat, he would definitely be purring right about now.

"I knew it."

"Hmm?" Steve blinked heavy eyes open, met TJ's pleased smile.

"That blush of yours really does go all the way down."

"Oh. Thanks?" He had no idea what to say, so he just closed his eyes and ran his fingers along TJ's spine. 

"And this view...I gotta say, it's a very good way to start the morning."

"Agreed," he murmured, "and, um, thank you."

Soft lips brushed over his cheeks and chin. "If you're that grateful for a handjob, I can't wait to see what you do when I suck you off."

Steve's body gave an interested twitch, but even for him, it was too soon to get hard again. "I'm sure I can think of something appropriate to show my appreciation," he said, and smiled. "What if I promised to make coffee?"

TJ lifted his head. "Coffee?"

"It'll mean leaving the bed," Steve pointed out, and had to grin at TJ's hopeful expression. "But I think I could make that sacrifice."

"And you're sure you weren't a boy scout?"

"The furthest thing from one, in fact. I was way too busy getting into fights."

"Is that how you broke this?" TJ's hand skimmed the slight bump on the bridge of Steve's nose. "I noticed last night that you didn't have any other scars on you."

"I use to have a couple, but they disappeared when I got the serum." Which had taken a lot of getting used to. "No clue why it didn't fix my nose, but I broke it in fourth grade in a pick-up game of street ball, if you can believe it."

"Really?"

"Really. It's the most normal injury I ever got. I was trying to steal second and Wade Mitchell's knee found my face when he was trying to block the base. I thought Bucky was gonna faint at all the blood."

"You know, you almost never talk about him," TJ pointed out. "Or anyone else from your past."

From his past... Steve stiffened, his fingers reflexively curling into fists. It took a considerable effort to relax them. 

"Talking about them won't bring anyone back," he said, and rolled out of the bed. "I'm gonna go put the coffee on."

"Hey." TJ sat up and put a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean –"

Steve shook his head, berating himself for losing it, even if it was only momentary. "Don't, alright, it's not your fault. It's just...still a sore topic, I guess." He was saved from further explanation by the ringing of his phone. "Sorry," he said, and fished it out of the front pocket of his jeans. "Yeah?"

"Is that any way to greet a friend?"

"Nat?" Steve asked, then stilled as a terrible thought occurred to him. "Are you okay, do you need me to – has anything happened with –?" If Bucky'd gotten hurt without Steve there to watch over him, he'd never forgive himself.

"Everything's fine, Barnes is fine," Natasha reassured him. "I was just calling to invite you to coffee."

"You're in New York?"

"Clint's at the Tower with Stark and Banner, and I'm at Vineapple, just off Hicks, if you wanted to meet up. Provided you can tear yourself away from the new boyfriend."

"How did you know that's where I was?"

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," she replied.

"Right." International spy. He blamed the orgasm and the early hour on the lapse. "I can be there in ten."

"Take your time. And if you didn't want to come alone, that's fine, too."

"Is this your subtle way of asking to meet him?"

"Was I being subtle?"

"Yeah, alright, I'll ask." He pressed the off button, and finished putting his jeans on.

"Everything alright?" TJ asked.

"Uh, yeah, that was...Natasha." Steve sat on the edge of the bed, gave TJ a small smile. "She wants to meet you."

"She does?"

"I've been told there's coffee."

"Bribe accepted," TJ stated, and sat up, stretching his arms over his head with a lusty yawn. "Give me five minutes?"

"Uh, sure." Steve jerked his gaze away from the light dusting of hair on TJ's stomach, and up into TJ's laughing eyes. "Sorry."

TJ grabbed a pair of briefs from a drawer and pulled them up over his legs. "I'm pretty sure you're allowed to ogle my bod as much as you want by now."

"No, I meant...for earlier," Steve clarified. "It's still hard for me sometimes to talk about..."

TJ dropped to his knees between Steve's legs, and cupped the sides of Steve's neck with a gentle touch. "Hey, I get it. You don't have to apologize. I know this still has to be hard for you."

"I'm okay," he said. He was so tired of saying it.

"You can be okay and still miss your friends," TJ said, and gave him a short, soft kiss. "You, uh, want a shirt to wear or something so you don't have to do the walk of shame home after?"

Steve chuckled and nodded, already feeling better. "Yeah, that'd be great." 

***

Steve spotted Natasha easily when he and TJ finally made their way to the café. There was no mistaking the hair or her signature smirk when she stood, greeted Steve with a hug and a kiss to the cheek. 

" _So this is the guy?_ " she asked in Russian, lifting a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

" _This is the guy_ ," Steve said, also in Russian, meeting Natasha's inscrutable look with his own. 

" _He doesn't look that much like Barnes_ ," she replied, after another quick glance TJ's way.

Steve had never loved her more than in that moment.

" _No, he doesn't_ ," he replied, then continued, in English: "Natasha Romanov, I'd like you to meet TJ Hammond."

Natasha shifted to face TJ. "If you hurt him, I know seven different ways to kill you just with my pinkie."

"Natasha –"

TJ blinked, but, to his credit, didn't otherwise move. "I, uh, okay, that's not just a little bit petrifying."

"It's supposed to be. Do we have an agreement?"

"Uh, yeah." TJ nodded, quick and sharp. "Don't piss off Steve's very scary assassin friends, I got it."

"I like him," Natasha pronounced. Steve thought he was one of only a small handful of people who could tell she was amused. "You can keep him."

"Gee thanks, Nat, especially since I've got him housetrained and everything. It means a lot."

TJ snorted, good humor clearly restored. "Who said I'm housetrained?"

Natasha let out a low chuckle. "Please tell me you haven't introduced him to Tony yet."

"Sorry." Steve shrugged. "Apparently, his family and Tony's go way back, so, yeah, a little too late to head that off at the pass."

"Not to mention, my grandmother loves Tony," TJ added. "She's got a thing for scoundrels and rakes."

"Are we talking about Tony still here or...?"

"Please, Rogers, like you've ever been scandalous or rakish a day in your life," Natasha scoffed.

"You'd be surprised," Steve mildly replied.

"He's got some serious ninja skills," TJ added, and nudged at Steve's shoulder. "I can personally vouch for them."

"Ninja skills, hmm?" Natasha looped her arm in TJ's and started to steer him inside. "Tell me everything..."

Maybe introducing them wasn't the best idea.

***


	38. Chapter 38

"This is not what I expected tonight," TJ remarked, with a small laugh. There was a sizeable crowd skating around the roller rink on Pier 2, everyone taking advantage of the nice night to get in some fresh air. Steve had been the one to suggest an evening at the Brooklyn Bridge Park, since he hadn't really had a chance to check it out yet. 

"You have something against roller skating?" Steve asked, with a slight frown. Admittedly, it wasn't the most glamorous of dates, but it was right in line with everything they'd done together before they started dating, and it sounded like fun. It couldn't be any more difficult than ice skating, and he'd been able to do that pre-serum with no problems.

"No, but I haven't been since I was, God, nine, ten?"

"Well, I've never done it, so you can make fun of me."

"I have a feeling we'll be making fun of each other," TJ said, and stepped up to the counter to get his skates. 

"Considering there's a group of high school kids recording us on their phones right now, we probably won't be the only ones making fun of each other," Steve remarked, surreptitiously guiding TJ's attention towards the teens in question. 

TJ gave them a quick glance, then turned back to Steve. "Good thing I haven't had any shame since I was a kid."

"I know I'm grateful for it." Steve leaned in for a light kiss. Despite the insistent clamoring for a public statement of some kind to clarify the 'nature of his relationship' to TJ, Steve was still doing his level best to ignore all of the media attention and speculation. He was content to let his actions speak for him.

TJ was still smiling when Steve pulled back. "You know that'll be all over the internet inside five minutes, right?"

"Should I do it again with more tongue?" Steve asked, only partially joking.

"As much as I want to say yes, I really don't want to spend the entire evening with a raging hard on."

"Offer's on the table."

"Why don't we save it for back at my place?" TJ said, tugging at Steve's belt loops to pull him closer. 

Steve took the hint, put his hands on TJ's hips. "Is that an invite?"

"It depends," TJ smirked, eyes dancing with mirth, "on whether or not you're going to put out."

"I could be persuaded," Steve breathed, his gaze dropping to the wet glint of TJ's lips.

"I can be _very_ persuasive."

It would be so easy to lean in, take what TJ was so willingly offering... But then Steve remembered they were probably still being filmed, and stopped himself at the last moment. "You're killing me."

"Just giving you a preview of what's to come, so to speak," TJ said, and patted Steve's chest before stepping back. "Oh, my mom and brother are going to be in New York next week for some meeting she's got at the U.N. They want to have dinner with us."

Talk about the figurative ice bucket... "With us? Not just you?"

"The phrase 'bring your boyfriend' was specifically used, so yes, us."

"Boyfriend, huh?" Steve grinned. "I feel so official."

"I could write out a press release if you want official," TJ said. "Or maybe post a selfie of us kissing on Instagram, if you need that sort of commitment from me."

"I think I'll be okay without it," Steve replied. "Unless you _want_ to make some sort of statement for the record?"

"Not really," TJ replied, with another light kiss. "If people haven't figured out by now that we're dating, then they're probably living under a rock somewhere."

"Sometimes the best statement is the one you don't make," Steve agreed. "I never felt a need to tell the press about any of the women I dated, so I'm not about to treat you any differently because you're a man."

"Exactly." TJ smiled, then looked out over the rink. "Although, right now, I'll settle for not winding up on TMZ because I fell on my ass."

"We'll keep an eye on each other, okay?"

"Deal," TJ replied, and bumped his hip. "Now are we gonna actually do this or just watch?"

"Oh, we're doing this." Steve grabbed his skates. He was looking forward to crossing this particular item off his list.

***


	39. Chapter 39

"Captain, would you mind helping me put the chairs away?" Rita asked, at the end of the next VA meeting.

He wasn't in any hurry to be anywhere. "Sure," he replied, happy to lend a hand. 

They worked in silence, folding and stacking chairs along the wall, and it wasn't until they were almost finished that he realized they were once again the only people in the room. He'd been careful the last few weeks not to be alone with her. Something she'd no doubt noticed.

He straightened and eyed her. He wasn't sure if he was more annoyed at her for her persistence or at himself for falling for her pretense of needing help. "I'm just going to take a guess and assume you singled me out for a reason."

She didn't bother to deny it. "You've been avoiding me, so this seemed the best way for us to have a conversation."

"There's nothing to discuss," he replied, shortly.

"I notice you still haven't said anything to the group."

That again. "I don't really have much to say."

"I find that hard to believe. No one's heard your story yet," she pointed out. "I was wondering if there was a reason for that."

She had to be joking. He waited a beat, calling her bluff, but she just stared back at him with a completely sincere look on her face. " _Everyone_ 's heard my story," he finally said, with as much patience as he could muster. "There's an entire section on me in the books section on Amazon.com and in Barnes & Noble."

She started shaking her head before he even finished speaking. "That's Captain America's story. I'm talking about _you_. Steve Rogers. And you never speak up unless it's to offer encouragement to someone else."

"I guess I just don't want to bore anybody," he said, confused. Wasn't that why they were there? To offer a safe place and a ready ear. "My...story, or whatever you want to call it...it's nothing compared to what some of these kids are going through."

"And what about what you've gone through?"

"I'm not sure I –"

"You want to know what I think, Captain?" she asked, then continued before he could speak. "I think you've done nothing since you got the serum except fight. For your country in World War II, for SHIELD once you woke up, for the Avengers, taking down Hydra..."

He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with the tenor of the conversation. "I was just doing what needed to be done."

"I know you were," she replied, patient but stern. "But you've never sat down and actually processed any of it."

What was there to process? He'd been doing nothing but processing since he'd woken up. He was a fucking master of _processing._ "I'm squared away." 

"Maybe you think that. And maybe on the outside, you are," she said, gesturing at him. "But, like everyone else in this room, you have scars. All of that fighting, all of those deaths, all of that loss. It all leaves a mark. Some people just wear those scars on the inside."

Scars on the inside... It sounded so simple when said out loud. Like a truth he should have seen a long time ago. 

Perhaps sensing that she had Steve's full attention, Rita continued, in a soft voice, "You've been listening to everyone else for months, you've heard how they're all struggling with day to day life. With the little things. With the big things. And you haven't judged any of them for those struggles. So why are you holding yourself to a different standard?"

"Why do you think?"

"I think your high profile means you, more than most people, need a safe place to open up. And if not here, then somewhere."

"A safe place," he repeated, with a short, mirthless laugh. 

"It's just me and you right now," she said. "You have my word nothing goes beyond this room. You need to trust _someone_."

He sank back onto one of the remaining chairs, his legs suddenly weak. "You want the truth? Some days, I'm so pissed off I survived the ice that I can't even _breathe_. And I don't know what to do with that. I've got a good life now – or I've got the start of one – but it's not." 

He stopped. Swallowed. Pressed on. "Some days, it's not enough. I'm not _doing_ enough to justify the fact that I survived."

Rita took the seat across from him. "You're not the first soldier to return from war and resent the fact that you made it. Or to feel guilty for making it when so many of your friends didn't. But you're not going to combat these feelings by ignoring them."

"I know, it's just...I'm not very good at this. Talking, I mean," he said, gesturing at himself with what he knew was a helpless look. "I was terrible at it growing up, too. I mean, it's not like it's a new thing or anything."

Her smile was compassionate. "Your generation gained a pretty good reputation for _not_ talking. I'm not surprised that you'd find it difficult."

"Not the first time I've heard that, either," he replied, with a rueful nod. "My, uh...my boyfriend...he's been pretty patient with me." Even though TJ had more right than anyone to push, he'd respected Steve's space.

"That's important," she said. "Just remember to be patient with yourself, as well."

"I'll do my best."

"And in these meetings, every single one of us, we're here for you, too. For Steve Rogers," she said, with a meaningful look.

"Yes, ma'am." He got it, loud and clear.

***


	40. Chapter 40

Steve juggled the takeout bags and his sketchbook with one hand while fishing for his keys with the other. After he'd left Rita, he'd wandered around for awhile, used the time to clear his head, to truly do some thinking. He still didn't have any answers, and he still felt lost and useless most days, but he _was_ doing better. Finding his way, forging a path, navigating the tricky waters of his new future.

Maybe he'd swing by TJ's later on, try to coax him onstage to play a couple of songs. The smoking room was supposed to have its official opening this weekend, too, and there were a couple of last minute tweaks he wanted to make –

"So I hear you found yourself a boyfriend."

Steve stopped just inside the door, heart pounding in his chest so loud it drowned out all other sound. "Bucky?" he croaked, unable to believe his eyes. 

Bucky got up from the sofa, swiped a beat up Dodgers hat off his head, and ran fingers through slightly shaggy brown hair. "You told me to find you when I was ready," he said, in a soft, rough voice. "If now's a bad time..."

"Don't even think about moving," Steve said, and kicked the door shut behind him. Bucky was here. He'd come home. _Finally._

He looked...good, Steve decided. He looked much better than how he'd been the last time Steve had seen him. Hair was definitely too long, and he could use a few good meals and a decent shave, but those too-blue eyes of his were clear and the half-smile on his face was one Steve had seen variations of his entire life. He looked like Bucky Barnes again. Like maybe he'd finally made some sort of peace with himself or the world or both.

"You, uh, were you expecting someone?" Bucky asked, gesturing at the bags. "That's a lot of food, even for you."

Steve had forgotten he was even holding them. "Oh, um, no. The woman that runs the place, she gives me extra all the time. I helped her family out of a tight spot a little while back."

"Same old Steve, still the biggest softie I know," Bucky said, with a fond laugh.

"You, uh, you hungry?" Steve asked. "There's enough here for an army."

"Yeah, sure," Bucky replied, with a small shrug. "I could eat."

Steve swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and nodded. "The dishes are in the cabinet next to the fridge."

Bucky brought down a couple of plates and Steve unpacked the bags, setting the containers on the table. "This...is this visit just a flyby or are you actually home to stay?"

"Haven't decided yet," Bucky said, and settled onto one of the chairs. "It depends."

"Well, you know which way I'll vote, if that's what you're asking," Steve replied, taking the seat next to him. "I wanted you to come back with me six months ago."

"I know. And I appreciate that you didn't force it."

"I may not have liked it, but it was your decision to make." It wasn't one Steve would have made, but it wouldn't be the first time he and Bucky had disagreed.

"You know things are different."

"Things were different the day we both shipped out in '43, Buck. It's okay. I'm not expecting us to be the same or to be like we were. I'm not interested in recreating the past."

"Good, because neither am I. I can't go back," Bucky said, with a small, sad look that reminded Steve of everything they'd been through, everything they'd lost. "Half the time I can't quite remember what there is to go back _to_ , if that makes sense."

"Yeah, it does." Steve clapped Bucky on the shoulder, felt cool metal under the fabric of Bucky's shirt. Another tangible reminder that neither of them was the same. "A very good friend told me once that sometimes the best we can do is start over. So, this is us, starting over."

A little of the haunted look left Bucky's eyes. "Wise words."

"Well, Peggy was always the smartest out of any of us."

"That she was," Bucky agreed. "Is she, uh...I mean, do you...?"

"She's still alive, if that's what you're asking. But I haven't been to see her in months. She, um, seeing me got to be too much for her, I guess, or confused her too much or something." He tried to keep the ache out of his voice, but wasn't sure how well he succeeded when Bucky simply patted him on the back.

"That's tough," he said. "But I am glad you two were able to reconnect before...you know."

"Yeah. Me too."

They ate in silence for a few minutes, then Bucky gave him a sidelong glance. "Are you gonna make me ask how you got involved with the son of a former president and current VP?"

Steve fumbled with his chopsticks. "You really want to hear about this? I mean, me and him?"

Bucky's eyes narrowed slightly. "He's important to you, right?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, he is."

"Then he's important to me, too," Bucky replied, then grinned. "But you _are_ aware that he kinda looks like me."

"You know, now that you mention it, there is a slight resemblance around the eyes..."

"Still a smartass," Bucky lamented, shaking his head.

"I learned it all from you," Steve replied, and scooped a dumpling onto his plate. "And yeah, of course I noticed at first, but to be honest, I stopped comparing you two about five minutes after I met him."

"Good to know. Because if you were harboring some sort of crush on me all these years..."

Steve shoved at Bucky's arm, the move as reflexive as breathing. "Stop. Don't even think it."

"I mean, I am a handsome bastard..."

"Buck, I swear on my mother's grave, I will stab you with my chopsticks if you continue that thought."

Bucky grinned, wide and teasing and achingly, perfectly familiar. "Alright, he really _doesn't_ look that much like me. Maybe before the War, we could've passed for brothers. Now..." He waved metal fingers "...not so much."

"Well, the two of you _aren't_ really alike, so that helps. Personality wise, I mean."

"As long as he makes you happy and more of a sap that you already are, that's the important thing," Bucky replied. "It's good you have someone. I mean that."

"I like him." A slight understatement, but he wasn't ready to say the words yet. Not even to Bucky. Even though Bucky's smirk suggested he already knew what Steve couldn't say.

"Yeah, you're fucking hilarious. Just admit you're over the moon about the guy already."

"Alright, you got me there," Steve admitted. "He...he helps to remind me what I used to be like. Before all this."

"Pissed at the world and with a chip on your shoulder the size of the Grand Canyon?"

"Asshole," Steve laughed. God, he'd missed this. Having someone in his life who _got_ him on that visceral, soul-deep level. Someone who'd known him all his life and wasn't afraid to call him on his bullshit. "No, he makes me feel like Steve Rogers again. Like I matter for more than the shield or for my skills or the serum or for being Captain America."

Bucky shook his head, and gave Steve a long look that pierced right through him, cut to the core of his very being. "You being Captain America is the least interesting thing about you, Rogers, and don't ever forget it."

Steve blinked back the sting of unshed tears and nodded, grateful beyond all measure that the fates had at least given him this. It wasn't the future he'd imagined for either of them, but at least they had each other to lean on. "I've missed you too."

Bucky just smiled back at him and asked him to pass the kung pao shrimp. "I mean it," he said, setting the container back on the table. "We've got our lives back, such as they are. Take your happiness and worry about the rest later."

"I'm trying, I'm not...it hasn't been easy," Steve admitted. Although it sounded easy when Bucky said it. Easy and attainable.

"Our lives weren't exactly a walk in the park before the War," Bucky reminded him. "So don't wait until it's too late again. You can have this, you know. You're allowed to be happy."

_Allowed to be happy._ Maybe it really _was_ that simple. "You know that applies to you, too. Whenever you're ready to take that next step, you know I'm with you all the way."

Bucky's fingers tightened around his chopsticks. "I've got a lot of shit to answer for."

"We all do," Steve said, with a pointed look. "And, whenever you're ready, you've got a job of sorts with this veteran's group charity thing I'm helping co-chair. Or if you wanted a spot with the Avengers, it's yours. Or you can do both. But only if you wanted to," he added, because he wanted it to be clear that he respected Bucky's choices, whatever they were. "I don't want to pressure you into anything."

"Sure you don't. You'll just give me the sad-eyed look until I cave, like you always do. But I'll think about it," Bucky said, then pointed at Steve's plate. "Now eat."

"Still as bossy as ever," Steve lamented, but obligingly scooped up a pile of noodles.

Bucky just grinned. "Well, someone's got to tell you what to do."

***


	41. Chapter 41

He left Bucky in the apartment after they'd polished off the majority of the food – "you'll still be here when I get home, right?" "Yeah, yeah, I promise, just don't come back until tomorrow sometime or I'll be disappointed" – and headed up to the club. No time like the present to get started at following Bucky's advice. 

Cody greeted him when he walked in the door, pointed in the direction of the bar. "He'll be glad to see you," she shouted above the lively din of the music. "It's been a madhouse tonight."

He could see that. It was quite the crowd for a Wednesday. Every table was full, and there were people lined up along the walls with drinks in their hands, all bopping their heads to the beat. The band was new – TJ had mentioned trying some new ones out for a house band during the week – and if the reaction was any indicator, the search was over. 

He garnered a few of the usual double takes as he made his way through the room, his sketchpad tucked under his arm, but no one stopped him. TJ, as promised, was behind the bar, with a row of drinks in front of him. He was wearing one of his usual white t-shirts, with a black vest thrown over it, and black jeans. And, even though his hands were busy pouring and mixing, he was still chatting with the customers, that deep-grooved, open smile firmly in place.

And seeing it, something deep inside Steve clicked into place. 

"Steve!" TJ called, bright and happy, and his smile, if possible grew even wider. "Didn't think I'd see you tonight."

"I, um...I just thought I'd come by," Steve said, finally getting to the bar. 

TJ leaned in, gave him a lingering kiss. "Glad you're here."

"No making out with the boyfriend on the clock," Claire said, nudging at TJ's hip as she made her way past him. 

"Such a tyrant, I don't know why I keep you around."

"Because I'm the best bartender in New York."

"I hate when she has a point," TJ lamented, with a very put-upon sigh. "You want anything?"

"No, I'm good," Steve said. "Finish doing what you're doing."

"As soon as this crush dies down, I should be able to slip away for a little bit."

Steve stood off to the side and waited, watched TJ in action and listened to the rest of the set with no small amount of admiration. The band was definitely a keeper. If they came out and killed it like this every night, they were going to make a name for both themselves and the club. 

"They're really good," he commented, when TJ was finally able to join him.

"Yeah, Nana's excellent taste strikes again," TJ said, with a grin. "The drummer – Kent – he's the grandson of one of her Vegas friends or something."

"Margaret recommended them?"

"She knows her jazz." TJ grabbed his hand, threaded their fingers together, and leaned in to nip at Steve's earlobe. "You wanna head back to the smoking room and christen it?"

Steve was very, very thankful for the dim lighting that hid both his blush and his erection. "Christen?"

"Mmhmm."

"Is that what the kids are calling sex these days?"

"Is that a yes...?" 

It sounded like the best idea Steve had ever heard. But, it wasn't why he was here. "Yes, very much, but, uh, we. That is, I...I have something I need to..."

"Come on," TJ said, saving him from stumbling over his words more than usual, and tugged at his hand. They walked down the hallway together and TJ steered him into the smoking room. "Have a seat."

He set the sketchpad on one of the tables and sat, pulling TJ to sit beside him. "It looks great," he said, looking around the room. It looked ready for customers.

"Just like you drew it." TJ smiled, and pointed at a spot right by the small bar. "Even framed your sketch and hung it up like I said I would."

"That's, uh...that's sort of why I'm here. One of them, anyway."

"You're making me a little nervous right now. If this is you breaking up –"

"Oh God, no." Steve scooted forward, grabbed onto TJ's hands and held. "This is...this is me telling you that I'm sorry."

TJ's brows furrowed. "Sorry for what?"

Moment of truth, Steve thought, but once he took a breath, the words came out a lot easier than he'd thought. "You've been...you've shared so much of yourself. Your family, your life, your recovery... I think you're one of the most remarkable people I've ever met –"

"Stop, seriously, I'm nothing –"

"You're _everything_ ," Steve said, cutting TJ's protest with a squeeze of his fingers. "You've been patient with me and I appreciate it, more than you know. But I'm ready."

"Okay." TJ nodded, focused on him with those more-green-than-blue eyes, and offered an encouraging smile. "Whatever it is you need to tell me, I'm here."

"You said you wanted to know me? Why I don't talk about the past or my friends or why I keep everything so buttoned down..." He took another deep breath, to finish settling his nerves. Heard both Rita and Bucky in his head, offering encouragement. "Well, the truth is, I'm...I'm not handling this well. This life, this future. I can't sleep at night, I'm angry a lot, I feel useless... And I'm getting better, but I'm not there yet. And I just...some people I really respect reminded me today that I can't keep all of this inside me."

"And you're trusting me with this?" TJ asked, with a small, pleased smile. "I...wow. I don't know what to say."

"I just need you to know. I still dream about the ice sometimes. And I always dream about the train and Bucky falling. And I'm scared to death most days that I'll never earn this extraordinary gift I've been given or the faith that Doc Erskine placed in me. I'm angry and impatient and I don't follow orders for dick and I'm a little bit lost right now without a mission or a command structure and some days, I'm not sure I made the right choice in taking the serum."

"Well, I'm glad you did," TJ quietly told him.

"I know, the world needed Captain America." Steve liked to think that the SSR and the rest of the Allied forces would have found a way to defeat Hydra and the Nazis without him, but there'd been a very good reason for Project Rebirth in the first place.

"No, I mean, yes, that too, but I'd have never met you if you hadn't, so, mostly for selfish reasons."

"I guess that makes us both selfish," Steve said. "And, for once, I don't give a damn."

"That's good. I mean, you should think about yourself first sometimes."

"There's...there's one other thing you need to know," Steve said. 

"Okay." TJ looked concerned, but he kept his hands in Steve's. "I'm listening."

Oddly, Steve didn't feel the slightest bit of trepidation about this part. It was long past time he came clean. "I'm not sure how much you know about what happened in D.C. last year..."

"When you brought down the helicarriers and exposed Hydra?"

"Yeah, that. There was..." He paused, unsure the best way to phrase it. "Well, I guess there's no delicate way to put this, but one of the secrets Hydra had been trying to protect was the fact that they'd been keeping Bucky alive."

TJ blinked. Blinked again. "How...why...holy shit."

"It's a very long story," Steve said, before TJ could say anything else. "And I promise, I'll tell you all of it. But you need to promise me you won't say anything to anyone about him. There are only a small handful of people who know he's still alive."

"You're actually serious about this."

"Yes," Steve replied, and tried to project every bit of hard won calm into his voice. "He survived his fall and Hydra found him. Found him and used him to – they _forced_ him to do..." His voice broke.

"Hey. Hey, it's okay, Steve, look at me." TJ freed one of his hands and cupped Steve's cheek, the touch soothing, soft. "You don't have to tell me everything right now. I believe you. Bucky's alive."

"Bucky's alive," Steve repeated, and let out a breath. "Alive and here in New York. But you can't tell anyone..."

"I won't," TJ promised. "It'll be our secret until you tell me otherwise. I, uh, I take it that this isn't something my mom or dad know, right?"

"Not even President Ellis knows," Steve said. "Bucky's name isn't in any of the files that got released to the public."

"Okay."

"And I know it's asking a lot for you to keep something like this from your family...I know how hard you've worked to build this trust with them –"

"They'll understand," TJ said and offered another smile. "Don't worry about that, okay? Your trust in me also means a lot. I know this couldn't have been easy for you."

"It wasn't that I didn't trust you." Steve's shoulders lifted in a shrug, but the tight band around his chest eased. "I'm just not really good at talking about...anything. Especially anything personal."

"Welcome to the club." TJ laughed, the sound light and open. "If you'd met me even two years ago... God, you would have hated me."

"I doubt it," Steve said, and met TJ's smile with a kiss. "Thank you for putting up with me."

"Hey, you put up with my damage, too," TJ told him. "I'm just returning the favor."

"I'm not going anywhere." 

"That means more than I can tell you," TJ replied. "Although, if we're confessing, I've got something I've been meaning to tell you."

"You're finally giving up on the flirting lessons?"

"No." TJ laughed, and rolled his eyes. "I mean, yes, I think you're ready to graduate with full honors, but that's not what I was going to say."

"So tell me."

TJ let out a slow breath. "Well, the upshot is I tried to kill myself a few years back."

Steve's heart lurched in his chest. "Jesus, TJ..."

"It's okay, I promise, this story has a happy ending." He squeezed Steve's hands, offering reassurance. "I mean, I'm here, right, so you know it all worked out in the end."

"Right." But still, the reminder helped. "What happened?" 

"Well, the short answer is, I didn't take Sean breaking up with me very well. So I locked myself in my car in the garage with the engine running." TJ's grip was tight, but his voice was composed. "My mom found me. Saved my life. I went into rehab for the second time, but I was just going through the motions, biding my time, saying all the right things so I could just get the fuck out. I was so mad at the world, at my family, at myself... And it wasn't until I OD'd – by accident this time – that I started to snap out of it, started to really try to crawl out of the hole I'd dug myself into."

Steve's heart broke with every word, even as his admiration for TJ grew. "And you say you're not strong. _Jesus_ , TJ...what you've overcome...what you've built...I'm in awe."

"Thank you, but that's not why I told you," TJ replied. "I'm telling you because you need to realize it's still in me. All of that clawing emptiness and doubt and fear, it's still there. That's what I'm up against every day. And if you're gonna take me on, then that's part of the package."

"What was it you just said a minute ago?" Steve asked, and smiled. "You put up with my damage. I'm just returning the favor."

"Still not sure what I've done to deserve you," TJ replied, returning the smile.

"You didn't step on my toes that first dance."

TJ's startled laugh was as warm as the summer sun and the words just spilled out of Steve before he could even think about them. "You know I love you, right?"

TJ froze, and Steve froze right along with him. "I just said that out loud, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did." 

Steve winced again. "Sorry. I mean, not that I said it, because I meant it, I mean, I do, but..."

He was stopped by the press of warm lips against his. "Stop talking," TJ said, and pulled back. 

"Sorry."

"Honestly, how does anyone say no to that blush?" TJ marveled, with an affectionate look. "I think I probably fell for that first."

Fell for. Which implied some sort of reciprocation. "That sounds...encouraging."

"Steve, I fell head over heels in love with you the night we met," TJ said, his tone matter-of-fact. "But guys like me – with my track record and all the ways I've fucked up my life – we don't get the happy ending with the prince or the ride off into the sunset."

 _Seize your happiness._ It was long past time for both of them to take that advice.

"How about a happy ending with an Irish kid from Brooklyn?" Steve asked, in a thick voice he barely recognized. "Would that work?"

TJ took a shuddering breath. "Yeah," he said, with that smile that brought out the laugh lines around his mouth. "That works just fine."

Which sounded like the best news Steve had heard maybe ever. "I really do love you," he said, pulling TJ close so their foreheads rested together. "I wasn't looking for you and I'm not saying you saved me or anything, but I was pretty lost when we first met."

"Yeah, I remember. That's half the reason I kept inviting you around. I know what it's like to not have a direction and how destructive it is."

"Whatever your reasons, I'm grateful. And even more grateful that we found each other."

"I love you too, Steve." Their lips met in sweet, chaste kiss, but to Steve, it was the best one he thought he'd ever had in his life. 

"So, Bucky wants to meet you," Steve said, after a moment.

TJ pulled back and gave him a stunned look. "Like, right _now_?"

"Uh, no." Steve chuckled. "But maybe tomorrow? I mean, if you're up for it."

"Sure," TJ answered, with a wicked waggle of his eyebrows. "Provided I let you out of bed tomorrow."

Steve was all in favor of that plan. "Uh...the day after is fine. More than fine."

"I knew you'd see it my way," TJ said, then his look turned speculative. "I hope you know I'm going to ask him to tell me every embarrassing story about you that he remembers."

Steve just winced. "That's...yeah, that'll take him awhile." 

No, he was never going to get his old life back, and he sure as hell couldn't return to the way things were. He and Bucky were both damaged people trying to find their way in the world, and there would probably always be a part of Steve that resented the fact that he'd survived the crash and that Bucky had survived his fall. But it was a small voice, and he was learning to come to terms with it.

Mostly, he just felt grateful that his life had taken the turn it had and given him TJ. God knew the two of were still figuring themselves out and still learning the rhythm of each other, but it was all worth it. What he and TJ were building together was nothing short of miraculous.

TJ must've sensed his thoughts, because his smile softened and he leaned into the next kiss like he'd never get enough. "Hey, come on, they can't be that bad. Besides, Doug's got a treasure trove of stories about me if you needed ammunition."

"I feel marginally better now."

"Good," TJ said, with a smile had to be rivaling all of the stars in the night sky. 

"So." Steve cleared a suddenly dry throat. "I sort of have something for you."

"Is it ridiculously sappy I love you sex?"

"Not precisely, but I'm certainly open to that," Steve replied, with a quiet laugh. "It's, um..." He pushed the pad towards TJ and opened it. "It's still a little rough, but...I think I'm ready to show it to you."

TJ's fingers traced lightly over the lines of the drawing as a small half-smile tilted the corners of his mouth. His voice was so low Steve had to strain to hear him. " _This_ is how you see me?"

"It's how I've always seen you," Steve replied. "Although you keep getting new freckles, so that's a bit of a challenge."

"I don't...wow." TJ lifted his head, and Steve hoped he never forgot the look of wonder on his face. " _Wow_."

"I hope that's a good wow."

"It's a very good wow. Thank you. It means...it means a lot," TJ said, and put their foreheads together again. "So, you ready to head home and have that ridiculously sappy I love you sex now?"

In answer, Steve just grinned. He couldn't imagine being any happier than he was at this very moment. "Yes. More than anything."

 

END.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic would not have been possible without the awesomeness of the following people:
> 
> Melle, who provided me with so much insight into how addiction and recovery works, and who acted as both cheerleader and sounding board during the entire evolution of this story - from the initial idea to the first 20,000 word draft to the finished product. I would not have finished the fic without her nudging me along.
> 
> Ignipes, whose invaluable advice and even more invaluable beta provided me with all of the ideas I needed to make all of the different aspects of the story work. 
> 
> Kate, who answered every text about New York and Brooklyn geography with the patience of a saint, and provided me with many of the details about New York life in both the 1930s and in present day.
> 
> G., who dropped everything for a (very) last minute GSaP beta, and helped to polish the story into the final version. Any remaining mistakes are all on me.
> 
> Seriously, if you enjoyed this story at all, go and shower all of them with love and adoration, because this one truly took a village. 
> 
>    
> Lastly, to everyone out there who's ever felt lost and alone and displaced or who's started a new life, I hope that Steve and TJ's journey resonated with you and gave you some solidarity in knowing you are not alone. Even the best and brightest of us need some help in finding our way. :)
> 
> You can now find me on [Tumblr](http://brendaonao3.tumblr.com/). :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover for "Second Time Around by Brenda"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6501346) by [PeggyStarkk (LupusUlulans)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LupusUlulans/pseuds/PeggyStarkk)




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